Lost and Found
by AlyssaSpencer
Summary: A lot can change in seventeen years - people especially. He lost her once and found her beautifully damaged. Now they must both try and fix each other to make it work. Yet, for Gibbs, the deaths of Shannon and Kelly still haunt him and threaten to break apart something beautiful before it has a chance to start. (Set after the events of season five).
1. Chapter 1

**WASHINGTON D.C**

**THE "SAFEHOUSE"**

I bustled around setting down pails to catch the dripping water from the leaky ceiling. A drop landed on me and I wiped it from my brow. Lots to do and not enough time to do it in. Cliché, but an honest one. Marcus was on the dinner rush and Tyler was most likely doing something highly illegal, nothing out of the usual for Tyler. We don't ask 'cause we don't want to know, but as long as he doesn't bring it home with him, Marcus has no problem with it. Like a good little girl, I pulled guard duty. Granted, an old abandoned brick building isn't much to guard, but this place is known for squatters. They come in, bring in furniture, stolen or created, stay for a spell, then leave. Next squatter come in and repeats the cycle.

As the sun began to set, I looked left at the wall of windows that reached the ceiling. I leaned against the black smeared red brick wall and breathed in the last of the day. I lit up a cigarette and as I inhaled, the glow from the other end of it matched the sunset before me. Though autumn wasn't my favorite season, I had to admit there was something special about the autumn sunsets that nature had to show. The season cast an orange haze above the horizon, lighting up the sky as if lit by fire, yet the haze was so crisp and clear. I found myself watching the sunsets recently. The way things were going, have always been going, in my life, the sunset had a calming effect on me and soothed what little sanity which threatened to slip away from me with every passing day.

Death: the end of being alive. Something I've seen too often; the next one more grotesque than the last. I don't seek death out; I don't wait for it; I don't call out to dark for it. Death calls out to me, following me to wherever I might hide. I never stay in the same place for too long; few weeks, month tops; move on. Repeat. I circle back to certain cities after a year or so, depends on the company I kept, depends on the damage I left.

D.C has always been held in a special place in my heart. It was the city I was born in; the city I learned to walk in; the city I learned to talk in; and the city I lost my family in. I was young when it happened, five years old tops. I don't remember _them_ too well, but I do remember very vividly what went on that night. I closed my eyes and let my memory wander…

_Blood. So much blood. It covered everything in a thin sheet of horror.  
It pooled together, in coagulating puddles around the bodies. It glimmered faintly as it ran in tiny streams down the wall where she had thrown my brother, Sam. A few drops shone like rubies, but twice as precious, as they fell from her long, elegant fingers; splashing with no more than faint 'drip' onto the crimson stained floor.  
Her jet black hair fell over her face, wild and untamed. It fell past her waist and touched the small of her back. Her ashy, pale face was cast downward, staring at the hardwood floor. A face once so beautiful now ruined forever with hideous scars. Her white dress was wet, soaked through from the hem to her waist. _

_ So much blood…_  
_One body, a small girl about seven or eight years old dressed in the same clothing as her murderess, lay facing up, her once sparkling emerald eyes now glazed over in death. Her mouth hung open revealing broken teeth, all chipped and bloodied. Her left leg was twisted at a grotesque angle and under the dim candle light; a small patch of paper white bone was visible.  
The murderess stood over her, her bloodied hands at her sides, fist clenched. She looked over the girl, her lovely blonde hair tied into two shoulder length braids. I'd loved to play with them, Emma's braids. The two of us would spend hours together doing each other's hair, playing with our dolls.  
Another body laid facing down, our eldest brother Ethan. His neck had been viciously broken, but not before the murderess could have her fun. She walked to him, stepping in the bloody puddles, leaving small footprints as she went. She pushed him over so that he was looking at her, a look of sheer horror plastered on his chubby face. His black and white striped shirt was now black and red. Soaked through with the blood that had spurted violently from the open wounds in his chest and throat. He had been too easy for her…a fast kill.  
The murderess chuckled. Her pale face turned up to the candle chandelier. She sighed and pulled the hem of her dress up, wringing out as much of the blood as she could. A few drops fell, spattering the floor, but what harm could a few more drops do? She looked around the room, her deep brown eyes full of morbid satisfaction. Bodies littered the floor. My brothers and sister lay before the woman; our foster mother that had so cruelly beaten us was strewn messily on the couch, her drunken fool of a husband sat frozen in the moth-eaten armchair. The woman chuckled again and walked slowly through the carnage to the magnificent wooden doorway, her arms hanging loosely at her sides. She turned her head over her shoulder, surveying her masterpiece on last time. She turned back...but a second too late._

_ There was a sickening crack as the murderess head rebounded off the pan and hit the doorway. She stood for a moment then crumpled to the floor, blood now pouring from a gash in her temple. Her eyes were open, dull and lifeless. _

_ She was dead. _

_ I killed her. Only a small child, new to this world, and I killed the woman who so coldly murdered the only family in knew. I stood over her, breathing hard. I let the solid, cast-iron frying pan drop from my hands. I wore the same dress as my sister Emma, the same dress as the woman I killed…_

I was violently thrown back into reality when a panicked voice was calling my name. I tried to open my eyes, but they wouldn't open. I felt the cold concrete pressing against my left side, chilling me, as I trembled and curled around myself.

"Ann! Ann, can you hear me?" A man frantically asked. He was concerned, panicked, as he gently shook me. "Ann, can you hear me?"

I heard the creaky floorboards of the makeshift stairs and the screeching of the old, rusty door. The newcomer's footfalls were steady until they reached the interior room; then the pace quickened into a run. He dropped a bag smelling of Kung Poa chicken and slid down.

"What the hell happened?!" He yelled. I felt my head lift, move, and rest on something hard that was covered by a pair of dirtied fabric that smelled like motor oil.

"I-I don't know-" the first man asked.

"What do you mean you don't know?" The second growled.

"I mean I-I came in and found her like this – curled up, eyes shut, twitching."

"Ann…" The second man said gently, stroking the hair out of my face. I flinched at the contact. "Ann, baby, wake up. Open your eyes."

"Is she okay?"

"Of course she's okay," the second said, but uncertain.

"So she's alive?" The first asked and the second lifted his hand off of me and struck the first in the arm. "Ow!"

"Ann, come one, open your eyes." The second commanded stern yet gentle. "Picked up your favorite; Kung Poa. Now don't make us wait on you."

"Seriously," The first's voice raised an octave. "Food?!"

"What, she likes Kung Poa."

"She could be having a seizure and you try to bribe her out of it by, 'Kung Poa's served'!" he yelled sarcastically.

"Well, it's working, isn't it?"

"It – what?" The first sounded shocked. "Really?"

Indeed it was. My heart rate slowed, my breath steadied, my muscles relaxed, and my eyes slowly loss tension and began to open. Everything was blurry, black spots dancing in my vision. It was the angel face of Marcus Hanover that I saw first – perfect and angular with high cheekbones, strong square jawline, a straight nose, and sun chapped lips – his Adonis like body with a muscular chest, broad shoulders, and athletic legs under his grease stained blue jeans. His hair, an unusual bronze shade, was clipper cut around the back and sides with the edges blending into the top jagged cut layers. His forest green eyes were fixed on me with concern clearly shinning.

"I'm alive…" I muttered, trying to sit up, but Marcus gently pushed my shoulders back down to wear my head rested in his lap.

"Should you really be moving?" The first voice asked. As my vision cleared and I blinked out black spots, I saw that it was Tyler Cosgrove. He's a lanky blond kid with a faint smirk that seems permanently fixed on his face. He has braces on teeth that don't appear to need them. Just by looking at him, you can tell he comes from wealth.

His parents, extremely wealthy, went through a divorce and decided to sell him, make a profit off of him rather than the other parent having custody of him. Tyler is Marcus's right hand guy, trusting him with anything and absolutely everything. I'm not too sure how they met. They never talk about it. It's the same way with Marcus's past; don't ask don't tell kind of policy.

"Tyler's right, you should take it easy." Marcus added. I groaned and he flashed a crooked grin.

Tyler rolled off his knees and onto the balls of his feet, standing up. He walked over to the plastic bag with the food in it, squat down and peeked inside. "Marcus, you spilled the soup!" He whined. "Dammit!"

I laughed and Marcus yelled over his shoulder, "Somehow I think you'll live."

"Not without my Won Ton Soup." Tyler grumbled and walked away with the rest of his food.

"A thank you would be nice!" Marcus yelled after him. Tyler shot him the middle finger as he walked to his little section of the warehouse. Marcus chuckled and shook his head.

"Can I get up now?" I asked and Marcus nodded, helping me sit up and lean against a nearby pillar. I noticed the look in his eyes and half mockingly, half curious asked, "You were worried?"

"Why wouldn't I." He said seriously. His hand reached out and stroked my cheek. I smiled and covered his hand with mine.

"I was worried too!" In typical Tyler fashion, he hollered through a mouthful of the small chips that come with the soup, ruining the moment.

I shivered. Thinking about food made me want to puke. Marcus noticed. He stripped off his leather brown bomber jacket and draped it around my shoulders. It had a high leather collar, two front pockets stuffed with various objects, and smelling faintly of sawdust, oil grease, and smoke.

"Are you ready to tell me what happened?" He asked quietly.

"Bad memories. That's all."

"The usual ones?"

"No." I said softly. "Blood, guts and gore, yeah, but this time it was…different."

"Different how?" Marcus's brow furrowed.

"I killed her." I looked into his eyes. "I watched as she killed them and played with their bodies, but before she left I–I killed her."

"So you still don't know who did it? You can't remember any more of what happened that night?"

I shook my head. "No. That part's still foggy."

Marcus turned, reached around and dug around in the bag. He pulled out two cartons, two chop-sticks, and four packets of soy sauce. "Maybe with some good food and some okay conversation, you'd feel better."

I smiled and accepted the chop-sticks and pecked his lips.

҉

I woke up early next morning, wrapped snug in multiple layers of moth eaten blankets with the feeling of warmth radiating from behind me. I smiled and squeezed Marcus's hand that was draped over my stomach as we spooned under the covers. A small sliver of sky was visible through the raggedy old curtains: It was a cool, dark blue splattered with flecks of orange, yellow, and pink, somewhere between night and dawn. Everything was quiet except Tyler's soft snoring a few feet away and the low hum of the city outside.

It was too early to get up. I looked up at the ceiling, at the cobwebs littering in every crack, and though over the events of the past week that lead to this…

_We were almost done hitch-hiking from Texas into D.C when somewhere in South Carolina; down by an interstate, there was a rest stop where truckers pull off the road for the night. Since it was getting late, Marcus made the decision to stay there for the night. Truckers keep their cargo locked so slipping into the back of some eighteen-wheeler heading in our direction was out of the question. _

_There were about twenty parked trucks in the brightly lit diner parking lot. As a habit, Marcus and Tyler split up to look around, scouting out the number of exits, windows, vehicles, and people inside and out of the diner. I made my way inside the diner to keep warm and wait by the counter for the boys to come in. Heads turned when the little bell above the door dinged my entrance, mostly because I was the only girl in the diner besides the haggard, elderly waitress behind the counter. I walked over to the counter and sat down on a red faux-leather swivel chair._

_Out of the corner of my eye I saw the elderly waitress lean in to the service hatch to talk with the overweight cook. They looked over at me, exchanged glances, and then nodded before the waitress hobbled over to me._

"_How old are you, sweetie?" She asked, her head tilting to the side. On her greasy apron was a name tag that held her name: Jill. _

"_Is there a reason you're asking, ma'am?" I asked sternly, but politely as I could. I could practically feel all the ears in the diner tune in._

"_Not many young girls come in here. Don't want nothing…illegal going on in or near my diner, you understand?" She lifted her eyebrow. It didn't hit me for a few seconds – underage prostitution. I see why she and the cook thought that – young teenage girl with disheveled hair, dirty face and dirty clothes walking into a diner at two in the morning. _

"_No, ma'am, I'm not here for that." I smiled slightly. "Just a small cup of coffee."_

_She left, returning a few minutes late with a fresh pot of coffee and a cup. She set them both down in front of me and as I poured, she looked me over._

"_Ain't it a bit chilly out there?" She asked, nodding to my wardrobe – stained white tank-top, thin black hoodie, well-worn jeans, and a pair of rundown sneakers. _

"_A bit." I nodded, closing my eyes as I cradled the cup with both hands, seeping the warmth out of it. When I opened my eyes again, I saw the elderly waitress looking down at me with hidden emotion._

"_How old are you sweetie?" She asked again, gently. _

_I put the cup down and shifted in my seat. "Seventeen, ma'am."_

"_How come you here then?" _

_My eyes shifted, thinking of an answer. That's when they drifted up to the mirror above the kitchen hatch. Marcus and Tyler were outside in the parking lot talking. They would be in here any minute. _

"_What's wrong, sweetie?" She asked, breaking my concentration._

_I don't know what I was thinking, but my brain shut down and my mouth opened up._

"_Do you have a bathroom?" I asked suddenly, keeping my eyes on the mirror._

"_Uh, yeah," She said confused, pointing to the back. "Second door-"_

_Before she could finish, I was out of the seat walking as calmly as I could to the women's restroom. I pushed it open, locked it behind me, and sank down to the floor. My mind was racing with thoughts that only increased my heart rate – What the hell are was I doing; why was I running; why am I scared – thoughts like those. In three months that I've been with Tyler and Marcus, not once have I hid from them. Not once has the thought of running away from them crossed my mind. I needed them….I need them._

_I tried to shake it all out of my head before I would have a panic attack. None of this made sense. My body reacted before my mind could think. I ran before I knew why I was running._

"_Get up. Get up, get up, get up," I muttered as I tapped the heel of my hand against my forehead. "Get up before-"_

_Before Marcus worries and picks a fight. _

_About a month after I decided to run with them, we were at a New Mexico truck stop similar to this one. Tyler had won forty bucks in a game of pool earlier that night and we were celebrating with nachos and soda pop. We were laughing, cracking jokes, drawing too much attention to ourselves. I had gotten up to hit the head and a couple of guys followed me. I didn't notice them until one grabbed me from behind and held his hand over my mouth. I couldn't scream. The smaller guy grabbed my legs while another opened the back door. I knew what was happening, what was _going _to happen, so I fought. I kicked, clawed, bit and thrashed until I finally broke free in the parking lot. I started screaming as I ran back to the diner. Marcus and Tyler must have noticed something was wrong when I didn't come back, because I met up with them halfway. _

_From there it went downhill. _

_Tyler cracked a few ribs and busted his hand taking out the small guy while Marcus fought against the two bigger ones. I wanted to help, but I was frozen much like I was now. The guys got him to the ground and started wailing on him. Somehow, Marcus got a pipe and fought back even harder. He bashed one guy's head in, the one who snuck up behind me, and when the other saw his buddy bleeding out in the gravel, he bolted. So did we when the cops started to make their presence known. _

_That night, when we found a safe place to crash, Marcus made me swear to him not to leave his sight and to always stay where he or Tyler could see me. It wasn't that they couldn't trust me; it was that they couldn't trust anybody else. _

_I looked up, thinking my answer would somehow be hidden in this awful bathroom, and saw myself in the mirror. My rusty red hair clung to my dirty face as it fell out of its pathetic ponytail. The healing bruise under my left eye stood out against my pale skin and unnaturally light blue eyes that almost gave the impression of being blind. And it was in those eyes I saw an instant realization: Marcus needed me as much as I needed him. Not any street kid would fight two grizzly bear sized men for a girl he's only known for a month. Not unless that street kid cared for said girl._

_I made my decision. _

_I needed to get back out there before Marcus noticed I was gone. Standing up proved to be difficult since my legs wobbled. I tried grabbing onto the door handle for support, but my hands were shaking as well. By the third try I was on my feet and out the door. Just in time, too._

_Marcus was having a furious conversation with Jill the waitress as Tyler looked around the diner, flashing a photo booth picture of the three of us, asking if any of them had seen me. Nobody was talking and everybody was given them death glares. They must have seen the bruise and noted my quick reaction to getting out of sight before they came in. Everybody always thought the worst of others. Marcus and Tyler are, after all, two years older than me and look every part my senior. _

_A black man in his late forties and heavily built, stood up from the booth and flashed a gun hidden in his waistband._

"_Now I think you two boys ought to be leaving now." He said sternly._

"_Not until I find out where she is." Marcus noticed the gun, but he seemed not to care. _

_Tyler trotted up to Marcus and said, "Nobody's said they saw her." _

"_Which is a lie because we saw her through the window," Marcus turned his attention back on Jill, "She was sitting at this chair."_

"_Billy's right," Jill said, throwing a wash towel over her shoulder. "Best be leaving 'cause ain't no girl looking like that been in here."_

_Billy, the man with the gun, took a step forward. Everyone jumped a little when the kitchen door swung open and the cook, a white man with a bushy mustache, came walking out with his shotgun._

"_Why you boys be looking for her, anyways?" The cook asked, revealing two missing front teeth. _

"_She's a friend of ours." Marcus said, toning down his hostility. The greater fire power gave him reason to be even more cautious. _

"_Look," Tyler said, stepping in front of Marcus with his hands raised. "Her name is Ann and she's only seventeen years old. A kid. Messed up world like this, you've got to keep vulnerable girls like her safe."_

"_How come you boys leave her then if you says she's your friend?"_

"_It's cold outside." I said quietly, yet just loud enough for the men with guns could here. With all the eyes on me, Marcus's were the only ones I cared to look at. In them, I saw relief at seeing me unharmed wash over him. "I wanted to warm up."_

_The cook kept his gun on them while Billy turned around and walked towards me. "You know these two, Miss?" I nodded up at him. "Are they the ones who bruised your face? You don't have to go with them if they did."_

_The way Billy said that gently, quiet enough for only me to hear made me think he's done this before. I looked down at his gun and sure enough it was standard police issue. Billy was a cop. I didn't bother me one bit either way, but I knew I had to play this right to keep Marcus out of trouble. _

"_They didn't hit me." Looking at Marcus, I said, "They saved me. Some guy attacked me and they saved me. Maybe they thought something like that happened again." I smiled up at Billy and touched his arm appreciatively. "Thank you for looking out for me."_

_Billy was still suspicious, although he did put his gun away and instructed the cook, Greg, to do the same. "And you're sure you're okay with these guys?" He asked again as Marcus held my waist close as Tyler paid for the coffee._

"_She's sure," was the last thing Marcus said before dragging us out of the diner and down the interstate. _

_For the next two hours we walked in silence along the side of the road; Tyler taking point, me in the middle, and Marcus in the rear. Cars, the occasional patrol car, even an old timey Volkswagen bus drove past us. When I stumbled from the cold, Marcus was there to pick me back up and give me his jacket. He never said a word. He was either too mad at me, too embarrassed as the scene he made, or just too cold in just a long sleeved shirt to say anything. _

_When he did say something, it was only to tell Tyler to head right, off the road, and onto a dirt trail. Tyler didn't question, only complied. _

"_Where are we going?" I asked, looking back at him._

"_There's a barn about a mile down this road," was all he said before shutting down again. I didn't question how he knew that, only complied. _

_It was four in the morning when we reached the dilapidated barn that was once, years ago, a traditional red color. The floor on the inside was covered in straw or hay; I never knew the difference, with random rusted farm equipment lying here and there. On each wall, there were four oil lanterns and, conveniently, the oil and matches needed to start them. Towards the middle, there was a ladder that led up to a loft roughly ten feet high. Marcus plucked a wooden stool out of the hay (or straw), dusted it off, and put it in front of me with the orders of "stay put" while he and Tyler light the lamps and see if it was safe to stay._

_When the search was over and Marcus said it was safe to stay, he yanked me off of the stool._

"_Follow me." He started walking over to the ladder and called over his shoulder, "we need to talk."_

_I looked over my shoulder at Tyler for some quick advice, but he gave a low whistle and took the chair and a lantern. "I'll pull first watch."_

"_Thanks, Ty." I muttered and jogged after Marcus who was nearing the top. _

_I climbed, giving myself a splinter in the process, and waited up top as Marcus paced to gather his thoughts. It was another ten minutes before he spoke again. His back was to me, head down, speaking softly for the rest of the conversation._

"_What happened at the diner?"_

"_What do you mean?" I asked innocently enough, swiping my foot side-to-side in the hay (or straw)._

"_Don't play stupid with me, Ann." He turned around and I saw just how exhausted he was from worry and I had myself to blame for it. He was dead on his feet, but he kept it controlled. "I'm not in the mood."_

"_I'm not playing, Marcus." I said gently, stepping forward. "I ordered coffee. I got up to use the restroom. When I came out, there you and Tyler were, ready to kick-ass." I smiled slightly, trying to cheer him up. If anything, his eyes grew sadder._

"_Then why did the cop and everybody else in there lie about seeing you? They had guns pointed at us, Ann. They were serious."_

"_They thought you hit me," I admitted. "In a small town like that, when ncie people who probably have kids see a teenage girl with bruises and two men looking for her, they react. Don't tell me you wouldn't have done the same." He didn't say a word, only closed the gap between us and lifted his hand to gently stroke the bruise. I saw the hurt, pain, and anger in his eyes that was there when it happened. I held his hand to my face and whispered, "It wasn't your fault."_

"_Yes it was, Ann. We were being too loud and I let you go alone-"_

"_Shhh-" I said, pulling his hand off my cheek and, with my other hand, put a finger to his lips. "You noticed and you came running. You noticed and you saved me. Saving me was your fault," I smiled with me eyes, "not anything else."_

_His hand reached to cup my chin and tilted my head up. The whole world seemed to disappear for one blissful second of stillness. I don't even think my heart beat. His lips were warm and sun dried and tasted like rich dirt, but the sensation of the taste blinded me. In order to survive, I've done many things that involved intimate contact of the cruelest of men with the strangest of perversions. Not once in my life had I experienced contact this…right. It scared me to think of how right this was. _

_When it stopped, my heart was beating so fast it felt like a murder of crows was going to fly out. I was flushed and felt so hot…Marcus pressed his forehead to mine and sighed. His breath warmed my face, and this time I kissed him, throwing out previous knowledge and letting instincts take over. Our hands were clasped, fingers laced and certain parts of me were screaming for more. _

_The second time he pulled back completely when we came up for air. My lips were swollen, warm, and beautifully damp. His face was flushed; his charming eyes were bright with fever, yet I saw hesitation. _

"_I-I shouldn't have done that…" He said, trying to convince himself. He knew what abuse I had suffered from the hands of other men in the past. When he had first found me, he knew I would jump whenever he, or Tyler, or any man would come near me. _

"_Yes, you should have," I said, stepping closer. One hand pulled him down to me by the neck while the other rested on his chest. He didn't stop it; instead he smiled against my lips and took the lead. He lifted the hair away from my neck with calloused fingers and kissed his way down to my neck. I couldn't speak or move; I exhaled slowly, trying not to make another sound. His lips moved to my ear, and he caught the lobe of it between his teeth. His arms came around me, pulling me as close to him as possible. _

_He backed up and collapsed on a sturdy bench, lifting me onto his lap, my legs on either side of his. I put my arms around him and bent my head a little to kiss him. It went on and on, but after a while we settled into rhythm. He pushed his jacket off my shoulders and pulled my hoodie off, tossing it to the floor, all without skipping a beat. My tank top slid up above my hips, my jeans hugging low. My hands began to rub his arms and chest helplessly. He stood up with me still wrapped around him. _

"_Floor?" he asked, a little raggedly, and I nodded. He laid me down, but not before grabbing the jackets for makeshift pillows. He knelt over me, bathing moonlight from the cracks in the walls and roof, quickly and neatly undressed. I sat up and did the same with Marcus helping me halfway through. Once we arranged ourselves, we picked back up where we left off, but with an escalating tempo. His fingers and his mouth were busy learning my topography, and he pressed heavily against my thigh._

_I was so on fire that I was surprised flames weren't shooting from my fingertips. I curled my fingers around him and stroked. Suddenly, Marcus was on top of me, ready to enter. I was exhilarated, reaching down between us to guide him. _

"_Ann," he said hoarsely, and pushed. I was sure I was prepared, I ached wanting him, but I cried out with the shock of it. After a moment, he said, "Don't close your eyes. Look at me, Ann."_

_The way he said my name now was like a caress, like it was a name no other man had ever used before or ever would after. And when our pleasure had come to a loud and joyous climax, we laid there for a long time, trembling with little aftershocks. I would never forget his taste and smell for as long as I live; I would never forget this pleasure. _

_Finally Marcus moved to lie on his back, pulling me to his side. I smiled into his sweaty chest and lazily dragged my finger up and down his chest, between his pecks, all the way down to his hips, and then back up again. He closed his eyes with a content look on his face._

"_If I had known you would be this gorgeous with your clothes off, I would have done this sooner," he said with a smile, his eyes still closed, and we drifted off to sleep._

It seemed like that night was ages ago, but the same question still lingered in the back of my mind - what was to happen now? I lay on the floor, thinking about D.C, of the daunting, complex future with Tyler and Marcus…_Marcus_…

The feelings I held towards Marcus felt different now than they did a week ago. The events nestled themselves into my brain. Was it just sex? A short fling of sudden emotions? Or could it possibly be that Marcus and I are developing some kind of screwed up relationship? The need for companionship in a tough life of run-away teens seemed more like a comic strip or a simple young adult novel than actual life.

I couldn't stand just lying there anymore, and luckily I didn't have too because Marcus was waking up.

"Morning, sunshine," I smiled.

"Morning…" He grumbled back, sitting up on one elbow and rubbing his eyes. "What time is it?"

"Early." I said, nodding to the window.

He sighed and flopped back down. "Get Tyler up, will ya?"

"No problem," I muttered. I picked up the pair of rubber banded chopsticks Marcus used last night, stuck a thick piece of trash were the rubber was, pulled back, and watched as the trash flew through the air and struck Tyler in the nose. He sat up quickly, looking around with startled eyes.

"What the hell was that?" He asked.

"Time to get up, buddy," Marcus groaned, rolling out of the covers. He stood and I watched as he pulled on his shirt and shoes - everything else he had slept in. "We got that appointment to keep, remember?"

Tyler's eyes lit up. "Oh, yeah. That's today?"

I looked back and forth between the two of them. "What appointment?"

"Buddy of ours got back from Paris Island and is working here in D.C." Tyler said, rushing to put some clothes on. "Said he'd meet up with us for breakfast before he heads off to work."

I stood up and pulled on my jeans, hoodie, and boots. "What's your friend's name?"

"Emilio Salazar." They said in unison.

҉

**NCIS**

**LATER THAT MORNING**

It has been two months since Vance took office and split up Gibbs' team; Abby would know the exact number of days since she's been counting them with post-it notes. Nothing was the same for Gibbs: he had a lawyer who can't shoot, a former F.B.I agent who doesn't listen, and a compulsive message taking computer nerd.

_This wasn't a team_, Gibbs thought, watching them from the balcony, _this was a time bomb waiting to blow._

Gibbs watched as Brent Langer walked into the bullpen. He tossed his gear under DiNozzo's desk…no, not Tony's, Langer's. It was still hard for Gibbs to think of the new team as being his. "Miss anything?"

"Just this," Daniel Keating said, walking towards Langer with a pink post-it note. "It's from a woman named Melinda. She had to postpone."

"Postpone what?" Langer asked with a smile on his face.

"Shouldn't you know that?" Michelle Lee asked from Ziva's desk. Keating walked up behind her and took a file he was looking for.

Langer leaned back in his seat, arms crossed behind his head. "How'd she sound?"

"How did she sound?" Keating repeated.

"I ask the question, you give the answer. How did she sound?" He punctuated every word to emphasize his point.

Keating and Lee exchange a glance. Lee went back to her report and Keating said, "I don't know, Langer."

Langer stood up. "Well use your words. Did she sound devastated? Despondent?"

"Delighted?" Lee joked.

"Haha, very funny." Langer sat back down and picked up his phone. "Alright, what's her number?"

"She didn't leave one," Keating smiled.

"You get names, numbers, and complete messages for Gibbs," Langer complained to Keating as he walked to the file folder. "This is a compete mess." Langer shook his head and pulled out his phone, scrolling through all the Melinda's.

"How many Melinda's do you have?" Lee asked, shocked, as Langer counted them all out under his breath.

"Not many and most of them are married…" He looked up from his phone. "Could be one of Agent DiNozzo's Melinda's."

Keating shrugged. "True, you do get a lot of calls from women looking for him."

Not bothering with any comments like he did two months ago, Gibbs stormed past his new team with a cup of coffee in hand. "Shots fired in Liberty Heights. Gear up." Gibbs grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair.

"If we were called every time shots were fired at Liberty Heights..." Langer trailed off.

"Yeah, well, Metro responded. They found a dead Marine." Gibbs said, already halfway to the elevator. He pushed the button and looked back to see his new team still gearing up. He cast a glare towards Vance, who was watching from the balcony before leaving.

҉

**LIBERTY HEIGHTS**

**PARKING GARAGE**

"Victim is Private First Class Emilio Salazar." Keating read off his phone. Langer was taking pictures and Lee was collecting evidence. "Joined the Marines four months ago. Scheduled for deployment next week."

"Ducky?" Gibbs asked.

"D-Doctor Mallard is struck in traffic." Keating stuttered apologetically. "Should be here in twenty minutes."

Lee lifted up a shell casing with her pen and Langer took the photo, saying, "Nine millimeter shells. Possibly two guns." He turned and took a photo of the wall opposite the body. "And based on the level of penetration on that wall, I would say .357 No shells, which means a revolver."

"One shooter, three weapons?" Lee asked.

"Four sets of footprints," Gibbs noted, motioning Langer to take photos.

"Shooter could have had a spotter." Langer suggested.

"Or a look out," Lee said, looking up through the skylight where PFC Salazar fell.

"Or a witness." Gibbs walked back over to Salazar and pointed something out on the body. "Hey, Langer." As Langer took photos of gang tattoos on Salazar's arms, Gibbs said, "Keating."

"According to new Marine regulations, exposed ink isn't allowed. He had his tattoo removed, most likely laser." Keating squinted his eyes for a closer look. "Looks like—'P'-"

As Gibbs walked off, he pointed to a spray-painting on the wall. "Looks like this."

"'PCS'." Keating called after Gibbs, "I'll check with Metro's gang unit."

"He hates us…" Lee muttered after seeing Gibbs leave for the roof.

"Old guy doesn't like change." Langer said, pointing the camera at the skylight. "Bullet hit there…killing our Marine and sending him bungee jumping."

"But why shoot your hostage from down here?"

"Maybe they were sending a message," Langer said as he walked over to Keating. "The kind that Special Agent Keating takes: cryptic and hard to decipher."

Gibbs looks down the sky light from the roof, calling out, "Get up here. Got another body."

When they do, they could see the second body face down in the ground, one arm out in front of him like he was trying to crawl away. He was lanky, possibly under six feet, with blonde hair and, by the looks of his sneakers, was an avid walker.

"Turn him over," Gibbs ordered. Langer knelt down and rolled him. Gibbs let out a sigh. "He's only a kid…"

"No more than, what," Langer said, "Seventeen, eighteen?"

"Braces." Lee said, pointing to the boy's face. "Braces around here means some sort of wealth."

"Could be why he was shot," Langer nodded to the boy's chest – two bullet wounds, no exit.

Lee knelt down next to the skylight and photographed a rusty pipe. "Blood. Could be either one of theirs."

"It's dry." Langer said, touching it with a gloved finger.

"Metro made their shots fired call less than an hour ago." Keating informed them, walking around to the other side. "Sir, I found some cuffs!"

Gibbs walked over with his trademark stare. "Keating…"

"Right, sorry, sir – I mean, Gibbs…boss…."

Langer knelt down and shot some more photos. "Skin. Blood. This guy was strapped up here for a while."

"What's that?" Lee asked, pointing down by the cuffs.

"Never seen handcuffs before, Lee?" Langer asked.

She rolled her eyes. "Under that blanket…looks like something's written on the wall."

Langer looked up at Gibbs and when nodded, Langer pulled back the blanket. "You were right. Someone's trying to send a message."

"Written in blood?" Lee asked, looking down at the series of numbers - 817-65-7320G. "It's a bit more than a message, maybe a phone number?"

Recognizing the series of numbers, Gibbs walks away from his new team. "Not a phone number."

"I have no idea what the 'G' stands for, but since its nine didgets, it could be a military service number." Keating said, writing the series down on his notepad. "I'll run it-"

"Don't have to." Gibbs said. The team turned around to look at his guarded face. "It's mine."

҉

**NCIS BULLPEN**

Director Vance stood in the middle of the bullpen, starring at the photo of Gibbs' service number on the plasma screen.

"Where is he?"

"I'm not exactly sure, Director." Langer replied from his desk.

"Tell him in need to see him."

As Vance turned and walked away, Langer said, while starring at Keating, "I will give him the message. And the nature of the message. I'll even include a phone number."

Ignoring the childish banter going on, Lee leaned forward on her desk, puzzled. "Why would anyone leave Agent Gibbs' military service number at a crime scene?"

"Could be easier than spelling out 'Special Agent Gibbs of NCIS' while you bleed out," Langer said as he walked over to Gibbs' desk to leave the message from Vance. The phone rang, and since Keating unofficially made himself Gibbs' secretary, he jumped to take the call. Langer beat him to it, though. "Special Agent Gibbs' desk…no, he's out at the moment. Can I take a message?" Keating rolled his eyes. "Flight lands at two thirty, got it. Can I take a name and a return number? Okay, thank you." Langer hung up the phone and stared at Keating.

"Enough, okay? I understand. What do you want me to do? You want me to sort through the database of every call that came into the switchboard this morning and match the incoming call to your desk phone using a date and a time stamp?"

Langer looked surprised. "Yeah, that'll be great. Thanks. Oh, hey, boss, got two messages for you, actually, right there." Gibbs walked over to his desk, hot coffee in hand, causing Langer to back up as far as he could in the small space. "Sorry. Director Vance wants you to call him back ASAP, and the, uh..." Gibbs rummaged around in his desk drawer for something before backing out to stare at the plasma screen. "The other is, uh...and then there's-there's that one. Um, it says that the flight arrives at 2:30. It's from M Street Travel. I assume that's a travel agent. Didn't say where the flight was from or who the passenger was, but if you want to share that, you can feel-"

"Dead Marine?" Gibbs asked, cutting across Langer.

Keating typed fast in the background as he rattled off information. "PFC Emilio Salazar. Service record."

Lee got up from her desk and joined Langer and Gibbs by the screen. "18-year-old. Completed basic training at Parris Island two months ago and was stationed at Quantico."

"Had more than a service record," Keating said, getting up as well. He clicked a button and the screen changed to his arrest records. "Criminal record goes back to 2003, when Emilio was 12. All juvenile offenses. All gang-related."

He hit another button and the picture of the Marine's wrist tattoo appeared on the screen. "Gang tattoo," Gibbs said.

"Or P-Pecados Capit-tales," Lee said, reading slowly off her paper.

"Capital Fish?" Langer asked. He looked over his shoulder at her paper to see if she read it right.

"Deadly Sins," Gibbs muttered. "Fish is pescado."

"These guys are also known as the PCs." Keating added.

Langer smiled. "Sounds like your kind of gang."

"Kid lives through six years in a gang, can't survive four months as a Marine." Gibbs said.

"Maybe someone didn't want him to leave the gang?" Keating asked.

"Maybe a rival gang killed him?" Lee suggested.

"All that's explains the dead guy," Langer said, "but what about your service number, boss?"

"Focus on tracking the killer." Gibbs said. "What about the other kid. We I.D him?"

"No," Lee said. "His blood doesn't match the pipe or the handcuffs and he got no hit in C.O.D.I.S. Ducky is running his dental records, but so far he's a John Doe."

"Put his face out there, see if anybody recognizes him," he said, walking down the back hall.

"And what about the other person who may have been held there?" She called after him.

"Find the shooter."

"Vance wants you to call him ASAP, boss!" Langer called after him.

"Heard you the first time, Langer!"

҉

**FIREING RANGE**

"A man in your unit was killed last night." Lee said gently to Staff Sargent Medina, holding up a picture of Salazar. In the background, the sound of gun fire was muffled by by walls.

"How'd it happen?" Medina asked, taking the photo Lee showed him.

"Firefight," Langer said. "He lost."

"Someone shot him?"

"Several times." Langer said curtly. Lee glared at him.

"Do you know who did it?"

Lee opened her mouth, but Langer was faster. "If we did, we wouldn't be here."

Lee swatted him before turned to Medina. "We thought you might be able to help."

"Any way I can," he assured them.

"He was killed in the neighborhood where he grew up. He ever talk about his past? Gang trouble?" Langer asked.

"All the time," Medina nodded. "He was trying to escape it."

"So you knew he had a record before joining the marines?" Lee asked.

Medina nodded over his shoulder to the people shooting on the range. "Some of these kids grew up in a jungle a lot more dangerous than the desert we're sending them to, you know?"

Langer sighed. "Salazar ever drop names, gang affiliations, enemies?"

"Nothing specific, sir. He had troubles like any kid who runs in gang circles, but he didn't name anybody."

"Well, if you think of anything," Lee said, clumsily pulling out her card, "let me know."

Medina nodded, putting the card in his breast pocket. He pointed over his shoulder, "Can I get back to my men now?"

Langer nodded. Medina was about to leave until he saw Lee staring apprehensively at the range. "You want to shoot?"

"Oh, I-I don't-" She stuttered.

"She doesn't shoot," Langer said begrudgingly, turning and walking away.

҉

**NCIS**

**AUTOPSY**

"Prior to PFC Salazar's demise," Ducky was telling Gibbs as he pointed to the body's wrists, "handcuffs made these abrasions and lacerations."

"Yeah, well, he wasn't held there long," Gibbs said as he bent down for a closer look.

"No. He was executed almost immediately upon his confinement. As to the cause of death-"

"Gunshots," Gibbs said.

"Well, yes and no." Ducky pointed out a diagonal line of bullet holes. "These were made by machine gun fire. The spacing is too symmetrical for random shooting. Also, they showed no signs of redness or braiding and bruising, indicating that our private was long dead when he was strafed."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow. "How long?"

"About six hours based on his liver temperature. And here..." Ducky trailed off as he walked over to the x-ray board, "single round, nine millimeter punctured the pericardial sac, causing a cardiac tamponed. He suffered greatly, Jethro- perhaps for 20 or 30 minutes-and he did not die quickly."

"What about the John Doe?"

"Ah," Ducky said as he walked over to the cooler, opened a drawer, and pulled out the slab. "Interesting life this young man led."

"How so, Doc?"

"Look at him and tell me what you see."

Gibbs looked at his friend strangely before looking down at the boy. "I see a skinny teenager who needed dental work."

"Partially correct." Ducky consulted his chart. "Malnourished boy, approximately eighteen years of age, who has no need for dental work. When you brought him in, he was incredibly dirty. Not the kind of dirty from playing afternoon sports, but the kind that tells me he hasn't seen a shower in quite some time. His clothing was the same way."

"What're you telling me, Ducky?"

"What I am trying to say, is that this John Doe is homeless and quite possibly a runaway."

Gibbs nodded. "The bullet that killed him?"

"In the capable hands of Abby Sciuto." Ducky checked his chart and Gibbs walked back over to the Marine's body. Ducky looked up and sighed, troubled. "You've never left a scene of a crime before I arrived until this one, Jethro."

"Yeah," he said, walking to the door. "Got something else to do."

"Something to do with your Marine Corps service number?" Ducky called after him.

Gibbs stopped as the doors opened up automatically for him. He turned around to face Ducky. That was when Director Vance walked into the room, saying,

"I was wondering the same thing myself." Gibbs turned around to look at him. "You're avoiding me."

Gibbs walked up to him, closing the distance. "I've been busy solving a murder, Leon. When I have something, you'll be the first to know."

Gibbs walked away, punching the elevator buttons with his fist. Vance looked after him then back to Ducky who only shrugged.

҉

**GIBBS HOME**

Gibbs jogged down his basement stairs, taking his coat off, and was greeted by the voice of Mike Franks,

"Next time you're having guests, probie, have some scotch in the house." He opened a bottle, sniffed it, and screwed the lid back on with a disgusted face.

"You couldn't sweet-talk the flight attendant out a few of those little bottles?"

"He wasn't my type." Mike turned to Gibbs. "What's so urgent? You pulled me away from my granddaughter. Just celebrated her second birthday."

"I'm looking for somebody," Gibbs said quietly, putting the alcohol away. "Ashley Duvall."

Mike sidestepped him and went back to the alcohol. "Vance know I'm here yet?"

"Not yet."

"Maybe I should borrow a tie." Mike unscrewed the lid and poured himself a glass. "Ashley was a long time ago, Gunny."

As Gibbs walked over to Mike, he flashed back to 1991…

_Gibbs was at the funeral of Kelly and Shannon, standing beside the open grave as their coffins were being lowered into the ground. Later, he joined NIS and become Mike Frank's probie. Months after, Gibbs was sitting in front of a stage, the neon sign blaring behind him read 'Erotic Dancers'. On stage danced a woman with red hair, her body flawless as she moved like a gentle breeze. Fast-forward, and Gibbs and the woman were in bed together, laughing, making love, and sleeping togther. Gibbs would wake up to the sound of his pager on the night stand and see that it was NIS. He would carefully get out of bed, so as to not wake the woman, scribbled down a note and left. He opened an outside door on the second floor or a red brick building, walk down iron stairs, and jog to a car waiting outside by the road. Inside the car was Mike Franks. Gibbs would look up to the second story door and see the woman in a bright green robe, smiling down at him and clutching to note to her chest. Beside her was a neon sign depicting a dancer's legs._

Snapping out of his head, Gibbs said, "Only one person knew about her: You."

"Eighteen years is a long time, Probie."

"You told me she left D.C, Mike."

Mike sighed. "What do you want me to say?"

"Whatever you're not saying!"

"Look," Mike deflected, "how do you know she's here. For sure?"

"My Marine service number was written on the roof of a crime scene. In blood."

"T-That could have been anybody." Mike shook his head.

"Nuh uh." Gibbs said, then even more quietly, "I put a 'G' at the end of it, just for her." Mike fidgeted with his hands, obviously battling inner demons.

"I can't , Jethro…I-I just can't-"

"Can't what, Mike?"

"She made me promise, God dammit."

"Who?"

"Ashley! Who else ya think?" Mike walked back to pace around. "She made me promise never to tell you, no matter what the hell happened."

"Mike…" Gibbs warned. His looked up at him and Gibbs watched the fight run out of him.

"Ashley was always your sweet spot after Kelly and Shannon. You knew it; I knew it; hell, all the whores in that goddamn place knew it! You spent more time in her bed than you did your own." Mike said, chuckling a bit, remembering slamming his knuckles on the door whenever there was a case and Gibbs didn't answer his pager. His smile faded when he saw Gibbs' face. "About a year after you two started seeing each other, remember what I told you?"

"Yeah, that Ashley left the city to move back to her hometown." Gibbs shrugged. "Mom got sick or something."

"Well, I lied."

Gibbs contained his anger. No matter how much he wanted to yell, to punch Mike in the face, he knew it wouldn't get him anywhere. He stepped closer to Mike. "Where is she now?"

"Last time I saw her was seventeen years ago when I pulled her out of that club. Hell if I know where she is now."

"We'll start where you dropped her off." Gibbs growled and walked back to the stairs.

҉

**LIBERTY HEIGHTS**

Gibbs drive into a prominently Latino neighborhood where trash and furniture littered the lawns and sidewalks, Spanish music drifted from open windows or cars and homes, and nearly all the men belonged to some sort of gang.

"This one right here," Mike pointed out the windshield at one of the brick homes. Gibbs pulled up to the curb, got out and waited for Mike on the sidewalk.

"Los policías, hombre. Vamos a salir de aquí," One guy wearing a shirt two sizes two big said as he and two others passed Gibbs.

"You put her here?" Gibbs said in disbelief as Mike joined him. Together, they walked up to the house Mike pointed at. He expected something a bit nicer with pastel paint covering the outside of the house, a red door and a white fence. Ashley had told him many times after sex that one day she would get out of the sex business, move somewhere nice, and raise a bunch of kids. She would describe in perfect detail what type of house and what kind of paint she would use. Looking at the brick home with gang graffiti spray painted all over it, Gibbs couldn't help but think Mike was lying to him.

In front of the house, there were three men looking under the hood of a beat-up grey truck. Mike smiled and asked, "Que paso?" as he passed by.

"Que es lo que miras?" One of the guys answered back.

Gibbs jogged up the three brick steps and knocked loudly on the metal screen in front of the door. He backed up a little bit when the door opened. A teenager with a lip piercing wearing black clothes stepped out.

"I'm looking for Ashley Duvall." Gibbs said without preamble.

The teenager looked Gibbs over. "Espere aquí un momento," he said as he backed into the house. Gibbs could hear him yell, "Maria, alguien está en la puerta. Están buscando a Ashley." After hearing a plate shatter on the floor, the teenager walked into the house to check it out. "Maria?"

Gibbs heard heavy footfalls as someone quickly walked to the door. It opened once again and a familiar face stepped out. She was five-four with smooth ebony hair rolling off her shoulder and dark eyes that widened in surprise when she saw who it was. She was a "dancer" friend of Ashley's back at the club.

"Jethro?" Maria asked, holding a hand over her mouth.

"Maria Espenoza…" Gibbs has to take a step back to collect his thoughts.

"Hello, Maria." Mike said, coming out from behind Gibbs.

"M-Mr. Franks…" She looked back and forth between the two of them. "T-This is a very unexpected surprise!"

Gibbs turned to Mike. "You dropped Ashley off with Maria?"

Mike nodded. "I picked her up and she told me to drive here. Ms. Espenoza was waiting at the door. Let me tell ya, that boy looked a hell of a lot nicer, too."

"As you can see," Maria said, gesturing around, "rasing a kid brother isn't as simple as it could be."

"Maria," Gibbs said, turning back to her. "Where's Ashley?"

Maria sighed, her eyes falling. "Jethro, I'm so sorry…"

It took him a minute before it donned on him. His shoulders slumped and his eyes hollowed. Maria extended her hand to hold Gibbs' and he squeezed it. He cleared his throat before he spoke again, this time softly. "When?"

"Five years ago." She sighed, squeezing his hand again only to comfort herself. "Cancer."

"Ah, geez," he sighed. "And she was here? The whole time?" Maria looked uneasy, nodding after a moment. Gibbs caught on to her expression. He narrowed his eyes. "Maria, what aren't you telling me?" She shook her head, dropped her gaze, and took back her hand as if he burnt her. Gibbs lifted up her chin with his thumb and index finger and said softly, "Maria…."

He could see the tears wetting her eyes as she spoke just as softly. "She swore me not to tell. On her deathbed, she made me promise her. I-I can't, Jethro."

"Please," he let his emotions color his voice. He needed to know why she ran from him, why Mike was involved and what Maria wasn't telling him. His Marine service number be damned, he needed to know about Ashley.

Mike stepped in when Maria shook her head for a second time. "We know you can't say anything, but….what if you _showed_ us?" He looked at her pointedly, nodding to the door.

Maria bit her lip and darted her eyes. "I-I'll be right back…I keep forgetting to take the trash out."

She scampered back into the house, leaving Gibbs confused as hell. Mike nodded and sat down on the brick steps to watch the road. Gibbs stood there a moment longer, starring at Mike, before saying, "What the hell was that?"

"What was what?" Mike said nonchalantly.

"You know damn well what I'm talking about." Gibbs barked.

Mike shrugged. "Woman said she had to take the trash out. Nothing more to it."

Gibbs was about to growl some more when the door opened again and Maria stepped out with small white box and a black trash bag. She walked past them as if they were ghosts and set everything by the side of the road for the trash collectors to pick up tomorrow. Once she was back inside, Mike got up off the steps and walked towards the trash. He knelt down and lifted up the trash bag to pick up the white box underneath it.

He walked back towards the car while he peaked inside the box, not bothering to look behind him to see if Gibbs was following. It was when they were both inside the car that Mike handed over the box, saying, "This oughta clear some of the fog."

Gibbs held it in his hands delicately thinking that it might disappear if he opened it. After a moment, he gathered the nerve, blew out a sigh and lifted the small lid off the box. Inside was a folded piece of paper, a picture, a key, and a twist-tie ring. Mike could feel the emotion from where he sat and silently got out of the car for a smoke. Gibbs didn't notice.

The first thing he grabbed was the photo nearest the top. It was small and worn, but he could clearly see it was him holding Ashley around the waist as they both laughed at something. He smiled slightly and ran his thumb over her coppery hair. Even after all these years he could still hear her soft laughter.

He got out his wallet and placed the photo safely inside, right next to Shannon and Kelly.

He picked up the twist-tie ring, sliding it onto his pinkie finger so he could unfold the letter. As he opened it, a few strands of hair and two small photos fell out. He didn't seem to notice because the letter was addressed to him dated five years ago.

My dearest Jethro,

I cannot possibly tell you how many times I have written this letter. Ten…twenty times, maybe. I lost count weeks ago. Once you realize why, then maybe you can come to understand how hard it was to put pen to paper and tell you all this. Maybe you will never find this letter, maybe you will, but I would at least like to leave with world at least knowing I told you this in some way.

Call me a sentimental romantic, but I find the best place to break news is at the beginning, the night we met. It was early 1992 when you walked into the club with Mike, tailing some mook. I had been dancing for hours by then and when I saw you and you saw me. It felt like a cannon ball had struck my heart. From that point, it seemed everything changed – nearly every night you were in the club, watching me dance, and nearly every night you were in my bed. Whenever we were together, time always stopped. Mike once told me you almost never went home, that it was too painful at times.

You never held anything back from me, Jethro. From your childhood in Stillwater, to joining the Marines, to Shannon and beautiful little Kelly. I know I would never hold the same place in your heart as they did. I accepted what we had…whatever it was. I am ashamed that I could not do the same when it mattered most.

The night you saw me last was a night I could never forget. I told you I was sick with the flu, do you remember? You made me soup and gave me crackers, tucked me in bed tight and kissed my forehead goodbye before you left for work. NIS had you out at the most unusual hours. When you returned the next morning, you must have been so confused as to where I could have gone. I had told everyone that I had gone to Philly, that my mother was sick and needed caring for. Yet, like so many things, this was a lie.

I had waited an hour to call Mike up and told him to meet me at the bus station. When he did, he met me with what little luggage I had. I told him where to go and he did. I gave him a lie to tell you and he did. Please, Jethro, for all my faults do not blame Mike. He, as I did, only wanted to protect you.

Nine long, yet seemingly short months later, a baby girl was born on September 28th, 1992. _A girl, Jethro. _Our baby girl. I named her Ann, after your mother. Ann Katherine Gibbs. I signed you're name on her documents, so that, one day, she would know of you. And it is my hope that one day, you would know of her.

Before I knew it, a year had come and gone. What amazed me the most was how much she was beginning to resemble you – her eyes, her determination, and her passion of black coffee. Her hair, what little of it, was purely mine. We were happy and safe in Liberty Heights…for the time being.

1993 was a bloody time in Liberty Heights. There was much death due to the gang wars – casualties on both sides and mainly from the civilians. That's when the police and F.B.I came in. The sought out the gang leaders by turning the soldiers. When the soldiers refused, the police would storm their homes and arrest them. Maria and I were a part of the unfortunate ones. I had been staying with her and her baby brother since the night Mike dropped me off. Maria's boyfriend, Carlos, was the nephew of the gang leader. When he refused to turn on his family, the police decided to raid our home in search of anything to incriminate the gang. What they weren't counting on was Carlos' shoot-out. He held Maria and Ann hostage inside while he shot-up the cop cars in the street. S.W.A.T went in and arrested Carlos. We thought that was the end of it.

A few weeks later, Social Services came and tried to take Ann away. The said that our home was unsafe for her, that I was a bad mother for living here and that I didn't deserve to have my child. I tried to fight them, Jethro, I truly did. The police came and arrested me and Maria for assault. I watched from the back of a police car as my baby was taken away. She screamed and I wept.

It would be another year before I would see her again. I found her at St. Simon's orphanage – a small piss-poor building housing dozens of children. And they say my home was unsafe? I gave the attending 'nurse' one hundred dollars for five minutes with Ann. I didn't have much so it took me a while to get the money.

Oh, Jethro, only two years old and she was the most beautiful girl in the world. She wore her flame-red hair in braided pig tails that came down to the buttons on her denim overalls; her eyes a piercing blue. When I held her hand, they were so small she placed both of them in one of mine. I knew we didn't have much time together, so I savored every second that I held her. When it came time for me to go I wouldn't let go of her. The haggard woman tried to pull us apart, but I batted her away and pleaded for just one more minute. I gave her all the cash in my wallet.

Before I left, I unhooked the silver locket from around my neck and hooked it around hers. As she held it, I told her that I will always love her, that I will always being looking for her, and that whenever she needs us, wants to find us, that she should just open the locket. Inside was a picture of us on the left and on the right was the service number you gave me. You had once told me that whenever I was lost, or in trouble, that I should just leave your number and you would find me.

It is my hope that once day our daughter will do the same. I know my actions are unforgivable, but please do not let that cloud your judgment. Find her, Jethro. Find our daughter and bring her home. If not for me, then for yourself.

Always and Forever,

Ashley Duvall

Gibbs let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He looked down into the box again and saw that there were strands of small red hair and two pictures face down. He secured the hairs in the twist-tie before steeling himself to look at the pictures.

The first was of Ashley holding Ann shortly after birth. She was swaddled in a blanket and as small as Ashley had said. Ashley was smiling down at her. Gibbs found himself, too, smiling at the small child nearly hidden in the cloth.

The second photo must have been taken when Ann turned one. She sat on Ashley's lap, a toothless grin spread across her face. A small white cake was on the table in front of her with a candle the shape of a 'one' lit. Ashley looked as happy as he'd ever seen her.

A daughter…He had a daughter.

Gibbs broke out of his little trance when Mike opened the door and sat down. The only sound for the next couple minutes was the Spanish music playing outside the quite car.

"Learn anything?" Mike asked quietly.

"I have a daughter. Ann." Gibbs said, gently handing over the photo. As he gunned the engine, he turned to Mike and said, "And she was the one who wrote my service number on the rooftop."

҉

**NCIS**

**BULLPEN**

Leon was waiting by the elevators in the bullpen for Gibbs to arrive. He's been waiting there since he got the phone call from the guards at the main gate telling him of the agent's arrival. What he wasn't expecting, however, was the second face that greeted him when the doors slid open.

"Howdy, Leon," Mike Franks smiled.

Leon nodded, keeping the surprise out of his voice. "Mike."

"He has information on a current case," Gibbs said when Leon's eyes flicked towards him. As he walked past him, he added, "And I need his help."

"Thanks for sorting out that little pension problem, Leon." Mike said as he walked after Gibbs. "Appreciate it."

"I didn't do anything I wouldn't have done for any former agent, Mike. All by the book."

"Absolutely. By the book."

"That's how we operate now," Leon warned him.

"Oh, wouldn't have it any other way, Leon" Mike said somewhat sarcastically.

Gibbs looked up from his desk to see Leon give him a warning look before departing in the elevator. Mike walked into the bullpen and stopped short, looking around in shock.

"What the hell's this?"

"What's what, sir?" Lee asked curiously. She stood up slightly from her desk to wonder if this man might have dementia.

"Who the hell are you?" Mike turned on her. "Where's Ziva?" He pointed towards Keating, "And McGee? And, hell, DiNozzo?" He turned toward Gibbs again, shock coloring his features. "Where's your team, Probie?"

Gibbs looked around at the startled face of his Beta Team before looking back at Mike. "This is my team, Mike."

He walked up to Gibbs' desk and laid his palms flat on the surface, "This ain't your team."

"It is now," Gibbs said quietly, but the team couldn't help but hear the sorrow and pain that came with it. Gibbs stood straighter, pulling the white box out of his coat pocket and laying on his desk. "What've we got?"

"Uh, we…" Lee stumbled with her words, still staring at Mike. "We canvased the area. No one is talking."

"There's a turf war, boss." Langer said, practically pounding on his computer keyboard. He couldn't help but feel a little bit hurt by the old guy's words. With the constant phone calls for Tony, the way Abby blows them off after giving them what they need in the lab, and even the way some of the other agents scattering in the break room whenever they come in…

"Between who?"

"Competing gangs – the PCs and the Verde Psychos."

"Ballistics?" Gibbs asked.

"We matched the bullet that Killed PFC Salazar and the John Doe to a gun that was used to an unsolved robbery two weeks ago and," Keating said as he typed on the computer, "Metro's chief suspect is Victor Carmado, a.k.a Popeye." Keating brought Camado's mug shot and rap sheet on the plasma screen.

Langer stood up and clicked the remote controlling the TV and zoomed in on the picture of Camado's tattoo on his hand. "Victor Camdo is a known member of the PCs."

Mike pointed at him on the screen. "He was hanging out with his posey at Liberty Heights today."

"Langer, Lee, bring him in." Gibbs ordered as he walked back to his desk to retrieve the small white box.

҉

**ABBY'S LAB**

Abby was pacing around uncertainly, muttering to herself. She didn't even notice when the lab doors opened up, then again, how could she hear over the deafening music she had playing.

"Abby!" Gibbs yelled over the noise, snapping her out of her daze.

"Gibbs!" She yelled, surprised.

"Howdy, darlin'!" Mike smiled.

"Franks!" Abby shouted, a smile washing away the guilty look on her face. She ran over and hugged the man. "What are you doing here?!"

"Probie thinks I'm here to help him out, but it was just an excuse to come see you."

When they broke apart, Gibbs thrust a Claf-Pow between them and said, "Abs, turn it down."

She pulled out a remote and switched off the music. She took the calf-pow from him and went to the pictures on her computer screens. "This is _so_ cool. Someone writes your service number on a roof and you just show up! It's like sending out the bat signal and having Batman show up." She turned to Mike with a new expression – wonder. "And his mentor Ra's al Ghul! Or-or like Princess Lela sending the hologram. 'Help me Obi-Wan'. And then getting Obi-Wan with his mentor, Qui-Gon Jinn." She stopped to take a breath, slowing down. "You know, it's weird because Liam Neeson played both the mentors."

Gibbs stared at her until she calmed down. "You gonna tell me why I'm here?"

"Oh, um, I ran the blood from the service number. It does not match our dead Marine, Emilio Salazar, or the John Doe." She showed him the test's negative on the screen.

"I already know that."

"Of course you do. Well, hopefully, it'll be news to you that the blood belongs to a woman." She smiled and started typing. "Got a hit from the foster care system and up came – Ann G. No last name, just an inital."

Abby pulled up a photo from the file. Mike's head shot to Gibbs once he was it. Gibbs couldn't move once he did. She looked do much like her mother – the hair, her neck, her cheekbones – but just like Ashley had written, Gibbs saw himself in her to – her eyes, the stubborn set of her jaw.

"And I'm guessing from the look on your face, that is news to you." As Abby talked on, Gibbs walked closer to the big screen with Ann's photograph on it. When he saw her baby picture, he never imagined she'd be this beautiful. "Um, she was born in the same neighborhood as PFC Salazar, but was later taken away by social services. According to her record, she disappeared shortly after…oh God!"

"What is it?" Mike asked.

"Her, um, the foster family she was placed with was-was brutally murdered-" Abby pulled up crime scene pictures of a literal bloodbath. Bodies littered the floor and everything was covered in blood. "The woman in white by the door…she, uh…she had just been released from a physiatrist hospital when she…when she broke into the house and murdered everyone….police don't know who killed her, but she was beaten over the head. Ann was the only body not accounted for."

The terrifying images seemed to snap Gibbs out of it. "How old was she?"

"Five," Abby looked up from her computer with a heartbreaking look on her face. "She was five, Gibbs, when she started living on the streets. There's another police report from seven months ago that has her name on it…" Gibbs waited as Abby pulled up more photos. "Says Houston, Texas police raided a known underage prostitution ring based off a call from one of the guys working there – Marcus Hanover." She pulled up his picture. "He's eighteen. He went under cover for the police two years ago. Said the only reason he did it was for a girl named Ann. Her blood…." Abby's voice dropped to a whisper when she read off the last part, "her blood was found on sheets in one of the bedrooms."

Gibbs' hands unconsciously balled into fists. He had never met this girl, but the fact this she was Ashley's child, living the same fate as her mother, made all this sick things more real to him.

"I've been trying to track her whereabouts over the past seven months, but I've only caught snipits of her, Marcus, and one other guy on A. and other security cameras. I can't get a good look at his face but-" Abby continued, furiously typing. It was when her computer sent off alarms that Gibbs turned to her. "Got something." Her typing became more hurried as her enhanced the image. As it was brought up, Gibbs could clearly see Ann, Marcus and – "That's our John Doe!"

"Can you get an I.D on him?" Gibbs asked.

"Yeah, yeah, just…" Abby trailed off, her fingers flying on the keyboard. More images and documents flooded the screen. "Bingo! Got a hit to a newspaper from Georgia." She pulled it up; it showed a wealthy couple posing for the camera with their son (the John Doe) standing between them. "Mary and Jonathan Cosgrove, parents of only son Tyler Cosgrove. Summery – parents getting a divorce and rather than have Tyler stay with one of them, they gave him up for adoption so that neither of them could have him. Defiantly not on the Proud Parent of the Year Award listing anytime soon…"

"Okay, so we I.D'd both dead bodies – Salazar and Cosgrove. We know that Cosgrove, Hanover and Ann are running together. Ann's blood was found on the rooftop where the bodies were found." Mike said. "Now how did all this come to pass?"

Before anyone could answer, Abby's computer beeped. "Ann was spotted by and A.T.M and several traffic cams a few minutes ago." She rushed. Knowing what this young girl has been through in her short life made finding her Abby's number one priority. She knew if Gibbs got to her, then she'd be safe.

"Need an address, Abby." Gibbs whispered in her ear once he got over to her.

"57 Kensington Street. The apartment belongs to a woman names Maggie Scott." She wrote it all down on a post-it note for him. He put it in his pocket and pulled out the white box.

"Abby, what I'm about to ask you to do is need-to-know. Nobody outside this room needs to know. Got that?" When Abby nodded, he opened up the box and gave her the hairs. "I need you to run the DNA."

"W-what database?"

He sighed. "Ever database, even NCIS. I need to know if these hairs are connected to this case and anyone in this building."

Before she could say anymore, he was out the door with Mike close on his heels.

"Might want to take this one slow, Probie. Might not like where it leads you," The older man warned.

҉

**LIBERTY HEIGHTS**

Langer parked the car beside the curb and got out. He and Lee were greeted by weary looks for the Latino guys hanging around, furniture strewn across yards and the same loud Spanish Pop music Gibbs and Franks were listening too earlier.

Langer pulled back his jacket to show his gun and badge as he walked up the porch. The two thugs to Popeye's left stood up. Langer cast them all a weary glance as Lee said, "Popeye Carmado? NCIS."

"You oughta leave, man." Popeye said, sipping his beer, starring at Langer.

"But we just got here," Langer smiled.

"Yeah, but this is a very dangerous neighborhood."

"That's why she brought me," Langer said.

"La Bonita es una federale." Popeye said.

The thug closest to Lee said, "Federales saben buenas," as he looked her over.

"La Bonita will kick your ass." Lee said uncomfortably.

"Is that right," Popeye smiled. He leaned forward in his chair till his forearms rested on his thighs. "You know, bad things happen is this place, mamita."

"But it's so home-y," Langer said as he walked around the porch, throwing a smile over his shoulder, "homey."

"You're trying my patience." Popeye warned.

Langer picked up a bottle of spraypaint off the floor and shook it up. "Not yet."

He was about to spray something on the wall when Popeye stood up and motioned to the biggest thug. Big Thug pounded his fist on his palm. A second later, Popeye dashed off.

"I got him, Langer!" Lee yelled, giving chase.

Langer sighed. "Looks like it's just you and me, boys."

It was in the yard of the third house down when Lee got close enough to grab Popeye's hoodie and yank him down. He fell on his back with a WOOSH, all his breath leaving him. Lee was still catching hers when she rolled him onto his stomach, knelt on his back, and cuffed him.

"What's the matter, Popeye?" She joked, panting. "Didn't get enough Spinach?"

"Rico! Chuy!"

"I wouldn't be too worried about them right now," She said through her gritted teeth as she pulled him off the ground.

Langer walked off the porch as Lee turned the corner. "What took you so long, Lee? Asian Ninja skills not working?"

She tossed Langer Popeye and glanced towards the porch to see the Big Thug holding a broken nose and the smaller thug cradling his arm. She rolled her eyes.

"Showoff."

҉

**NCIS CYBERUNIT**

Timothy McGee was standing behind two of his guys, watching a series of code they were showing him. Quite honestly, he was bored as can be and the only perk there was in this job was the respect and admiration he got from all the basement dwellers down here.

"McGee!" He heard the shrill and familiar voice of Abby calling him. He turned around, as did all the other geeks, and saw her rush off the elevator.

"Hey, Abby-"

"No time." She said, grabbing his hand and dragging him to his desk where it was safely secluded from the others. She knew she had caught their attention, and she was fine with that, but she didn't want anybody else but Tim to hear what she was about to say.

"What's wrong, Abs?" Tim asked, genuinely concerned. He watched as her eyes darted as she wrung her hands and bit her bottom lip. "You seem…I don't know, worried?"

"What have you heard?" She asked.

"Heard about what?"

"About Gibbs!" She stared to walk circles around him as she said, "I know something…something big. Gigantic even! Game changing. Not just for Gibbs, definitely Gibbs, but for us too! And before I tell you, I need to know what you've heard."

"Abby. Abby, slow down." McGee said, grabbing her arms and holding her in front of him. "I haven't heard anything about Gibbs except that Franks is back."

"Exactly! And he knows about her and I think that's why Gibbs brought him in on the case!"

"Wh-what? I'm lost here, Abby." Tim shook his head.

"Have a seat," she said, pushing a chair at him. He sat and she knelt down in front of him. "Whatever I say cannot leave your mouth, Timmy. Even Gibbs can't know I'm telling you."

"Then why are you telling me?"

"I need to tell someone, that's why! It's…it's just too much on my own." She looked crestfallen as she stared up at him. "So please, Tim," she held up her pinkie finger, "promise me you won't repeat any of this."

He shook pinkie fingers with her. "I swear."

"Good," she sighed before unloading everything that's been happening – starting with Gibbs' marine number on the rooftop crime scene and Mike Frank's return. "So then I started searching for hits in any database that would match the blood that wrote his number. And I got a match: Ann G."

"That's great, Abby. You got a suspect."

"Yeah, but…I read her file. She was taken away from her mother, Ashley Duvall, by Social Services a few weeks after this big gang shoot out in Liberty Heights; the same neighborhood as our victim. She was one years old. Anyway, when Ann was five her whole foster family was brutally murdered – complete blood bath. She escaped and began to live on the streets. She was five, Tim! She later showed up in Texas when this huge human trafficker was busted. The informant responsible was an eighteen year old boy, Marcus, who says he only did it because of Ann. That was months ago and by then, she teamed up with Marcus and Tyler Cosgrove, our former John Doe."

"That's really sad, Abby, but what does this have to do with Gibbs and Franks?"

"That's the thing!" Abby shouted before lowering her voice again. "When I told them who the blood belonged too, it looked like they already knew."

"It is Gibbs, Abby-"

"No, no. They didn't know it was her blood, but they knew her – and her mom, Ashley."

Tim looked confused, trying to keep up. "Well, how do they know her?"

Abby sighed, looking guilty. "That's what so big, Timmy." She pulled out a little baggie with red tape sealing it. Inside were the red hairs Gibbs gave her. "Before he left to go pick her up from the address I gave him, he to me to run these hairs through the NCIS and any criminal database."

"Did you get something?"

She nodded slowly. "Three something's."

"Well…who are they?"

"The hairs come from Ann G. – her baby hairs. The second match I got was from Metro confirming Ashley Duvall as her mother."

Tim somehow knew what was next but he kept his face blank and swallowed. "And the third match?"

"NCIS Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs." She said slowly and nearly in a whisper. She put the hairs on Tim's desk. "Gibbs is about to arrest his daughter."

҉

**57 KENSINGTON STREET**

Maggie Scott lives on the third floor in apartment 10C at the end of the hall on the right side. Outside the cream painted chipped door was a small rock. Mike Franks saw it and lifted an eyebrow.

"Sometimes B n E's are just that simple."

Gibbs didn't comment as he knocked on the door.

"Just a minute!" A woman's voice called out. From outside, Gibbs could hear a hushed argument and the slamming of a door as a pair of light footsteps walked to them. When the door opened, Gibbs that the voice belonged to a small blonde woman wearing a light blue turtle neck and a pair of jeans. She whipped her hands with a papertowel as she said, "Yes?"

"You Maggie Scott?" Gibbs asked.

Maggie's face visibly fell. She quickly looked over her shoulder into the apartment before stepping out into the hallway, closing the door behind her. "You guys Metro?"

Gibbs flipped open his ID and showed her his badge. "NCIS."

She looked confused. "Who got hit? Somebody from this block?"

"I understand that this is where Ann G. and Marcus Hanover are staying?"

Her face became stone. Looking away with her voice emotionless, she asked, "Don't know 'em. What'd they do?"

Gibbs and Franks looked at each other. They had her. "They were involved in a murder. Someone a couple of streets over, Emilio Salazar."

She bit her lower lip and nodded her head. "Emilio…yeah, he's an old friend of Marcus's. Ha-has anyone contacted Emilio's mother?"

"Being done now." Mike said, he narrowed his eyes. "So you do know Marcus Hanover?" She nodded. "Where is Marcus now?"

Her face became stone again. "Atlantic city, blowing off steam with some friends-"

"Maggie," Gibbs said gently. "We know he didn't have anything to do with this. We know that. We aren't here to arrest him. We just want to talk."

Maggie thought it over for a few minutes. "Just talk? No handcuffs, no guns? Just talking?"

Mike nodded. "He knows someone who was there. We just need to know where that person is."

She nodded slowly. She opened the door, stepped back and whispered, "Down the hall, first door on the left."

Mike and Gibbs walked past her and to the bedroom door she pointed out. Gibbs knocked on the door; Mike stood off to the side with his hand hovering above the gun on his hip. When Gibbs gave him a curious look, he just shrugged.

"Hold on a sec, Maggie," a voice behind the door said. They saw a shadow shuffling under the door before it opened. A shirtless Marcus opened the door. His face was badly beaten, his chest the same. He held his side with great care.

"Who are you?" When he opened his mouth, they saw a missing tooth. "Where's Maggie?"

Gibbs held up his badge. "Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS." He motions towards Franks. "Mike Franks."

"Let me see your badge," The boy demanded, holding out his hand. Gibbs handed it to him and once the boy was satisfied, he handed it back. "What does NCIS want?"

"Mind if we come in for a little chat?" Mike asked.

"Sure," Marcus said, leading them out to the small living room where Maggie sat on the couch. He silently sat beside her, biting back the pain.

"What happened?" Gibbs asked.

"Disagreement between friends, is all."

"Friend running with the PC's?" Marcus didn't answer Mike. "Do you know this boy?"

Gibbs handed him a photo of Tyler on a slab in autopsy. Marcus held it in his hands and spoke silently, "Yes. Yeah, th-that's Tyler."

"Same friends killed him?" Marcus nodded. "And PFC Salazar?" Marcus nodded again. Gibbs took the photo back. "How'd you two meet?"

"Tyler saved my life a few years back. We've been together ever since."

"Sounds like you two are pretty close." Mike said, walking around Marcus. "As close as…lovers, maybe?"

"What? No!" Marcus said, turning his body to look at him, disgusted. "As close as brothers. Closer even. You can pull your mind out of whatever gutter you've stuck it in."

"Nah, we know," Gibbs smiled half-heartedly. "You've already got a girl…Ann G.?"

"What do you know about Ann?" Marcus asked softly.

"I know she's in trouble. I know she's involved with your friend, Emilio Salazar's death and I know your injuries are related."

"She didn't kill anybody." Marcus said.

"What happened, Marcus?" Mike asked.

"I-I don't know. Didn't see much until the end." He looked away. "Saw Tyler go down and Ann write something on a wall. Used her own blood, too. Nasty cut on her arm."

"Where is she, Marcus?"

"Why should I help you?" He asked, angered that he asked. "You'll find her, arrest her, and grill her until she breaks. You'll either lock her up or call Social Services on her. I don't know which is worse, either way the guys that did this will be coming after her!"

"I can promise you neither of those things will happen, Marcus." Gibbs reassured him. "I need to know what happened on that rooftop and Ann is the only one who can tell me. Do you want your friends' deaths to go unpunshied."

"What do you care about a couple of street kids. The only reason you're even here is because Emilo was a Marine."

"There you are wrong." Mike said.

҉

It was a few streets down from the apartment, across the street from the drug store Maggie had sent her, where they found her. Mike and Gibbs sat in the car watching her lean against the iron fence surrounding a decapitated park where a boys little league team was practicing, their families watching from the stands.

Mike was tapping his fingers on the passenger side door rest. "We gonna go get her?"

"Not yet," Gibbs said.

"We gonna go talk to her?"

"Not yet." Gibbs said more quietly. First having her baby picture as the only connection to her and now actually seeing the beautiful woman she has become…Gibbs was more content just watching her for a moment longer.

At first he was started by the raw resemblance to Ashley – her tall, slender figure; the unblemished ivory skin; her venetian redhair was roughly twenty-six inches long with unruly curls that blew in every direction with the wind. It wasn't until he took a closer look at her that he noticed _his_ resemblance to her – her strong, confidant walk; her kind heart, picking up a child's fallen bear; and assessing before acting. It won't be until he talked to her, looked at her face, to know how much they are alike.

Mike turned to talk to Gibbs, but he bailed out the door. Mike sighed. "Now you want to talk to her." He stayed in the car, muttering, "Don't worry, I'll wait here."

Gibbs jogged to the other side of the street, flagging down cars to stop. He was about twelve feet away when he resumed his walk, stopping just a few feet away from her. He leaned against the iron fence and watched along with her. After a few moments, she spoke up; quiet enough for only him to hear.

"Which one is yours?" she asked.

Gibbs was so surprised by her voice that he thought it was Ashley for a moment. When he turned, he actually expected to see her, yet who he saw was much more beautiful. She had an oval face with warm and compassionate eyes that seemed to contradict the light ice blue coloring that gave her the appearance of being blind. Her lips were thick and full, her eyebrows thin, and her cheekbones fair and prominent. She could have just stepped out of a fashion magazine if it wasn't for her clothing – worn down sneakers, ripped and frayed jeans, thin black zip-up hoodie covering a white stained tank top. They most likely came from a shelter.

Gibbs shook his head. "Don't have a son."

Ann became immediately weary. "Then what are you doing here."

"Just watching," Gibbs mused, looking back at the boys.

She straightened up, pushing away from the fence. "Look, I don't know what perverted fantasy you're thinking of, but you can do it in the comfort of your own home. Back off before I call the cops."

Gibbs smiled, reaching down towards his belt. "I wouldn't do that." As he watched her face turn to shock, he pulled out his badge. "NCIS."

Her guard raised and her eyes darted. "Sorry, sir, honest mistake." She gave him a fleeting smile and turned to walk away, but Gibbs grabbed her arm. She tensed up and flinched as if she were slapped.

"Easy now," He said, "I'm not going to hurt you, Ann."

"You're hurting me now," She whispered softly and he let her go, yet left his hand hovering a few inches above her arm. She turned around slowly and kept looking around. "How do you know my name?"

҉

**NCIS **

**INTERRIGATION ROOM**

"You want to tell us where you been for the past 48 hours?" Gibbs asked. He sat on one side on the steel table, his daughter on the other. Mike stood at the edge, his hands on his hips.

"Just got into town," she said truthfully.

Mike shook his head. "We have you on camera purchasing a per-paid two days ago. Traced the number and the calls were all made from a two-block area of D.C."

Gibbs opened up a folder and gave her a photo of the rooftop. "Why were you being held here?"

"I wasn't." She said quietly, pushing the photo back with her fingertips.

Gibbs took out another photo – his service number. "Your blood on the roof. My military service number." Ann's head shot up. For the first time, she looked him squarely in the eyes. That's when the recognition hit her – this was the man in the locker. Her locket. Gibbs could see it in her eyes that she connected the dots. He ignored it for a moment and continued on. "You got my attention, Ann. I'm here. What do you want?"

"Th-That wasn't me," she stuttered, playing stupid. "I cut myself fooling around with some friends."

"This your friend?" Mike asked as he laid the picture of Tyler in autopsy.

Ann closed her eyes, looking away. Behind the glass, Langer and Lee watched.

"Gibbs and the kid…" Langer muttered. "What's the connection?"

"And why the kit-gloves?" Lee asked curiously. She's seen Gibbs reduce grown men and teenagers the girl's age to tears. "What makes her different?"

Langer turned his head when he heard banging in the other interrogation room. "Popeye."

"Think he's ready to talk?"

Lee turned towards the door. "One way to find out."

҉

**INTERRIGATION ROOM 2**

Carmado was banging on the windows, yelling out, when Langer and Lee walked into the room.

"No gangbang on the walls," Langer said, pulling out a chair for himself at the steel table.

"Sit down," Lee said nicely enough, yet slightly stern.

"I ain't sitting down," Carmado said, walking up to the table.

"Sientate!" Langer yelled. "Or do you want La Bonita to sit your ass down?"

Carmado lost some of his fight. He pulled out his chair and said softly, "I thought you all forgot about me, that's all."

"You in a hurry to go somewhere, Carmado?" Lee asked. "Might want to reschedule your plans, because you're not going anywhere any time soon."

"You're going to prison." Langer said, dropping his file on the table.

"Says who?" Carmado asked.

"Says the nine-millimeter slug we pulled out of PFC Emilio Salazar and Tyler Cosgrove. Matches the slug from another shooting you were involved in."

"If witnesses put me there, I'd have been locked up already."

Lee put her palms down on the table, doing her best to impersonate Ziva David. "We have a dead teenager and Marine who happened to be a former gang member of yours."

Langer opened his coat up and pulled out an evidence bag sealed with red tape. "This is the murder weapon. Found dumped in a storm drain. Recognize it?"

"That's it?" Carmado asked, looking from Langer to Lee. "That's all you got?"

"That's all we need."

Carmado leaned back in his chair. He smiled. "It's all circumstantial. I think you got nothing." He looked up at Lee. "I think what you need is a confession."

҉

**INTERRIGATION ROOM 1**

"You are looking at ten years for accessory to murder of a U.S. Marine," Gibbs was telling Ann.

"More, if we tag you for murder one with Tyler." Mike said. He now stood behind her, looming menacingly over her. He leaned down to speak in her ear. "Your sweat was on that roof. Your blood was on that roof. You gonna tell us what happened on that roof?"

"You're going to tell us who else was on that roof. You, Tyler…Marcus,"

"Marcus has nothing to do with any of this!" Ann shouted, putting her hand down on the table. She pleaded with Gibbs earnestly with her eyes.

"Then who put those bullets in PFC Salazar and Tyler Cosgrove?" He pushed a picture of Salazar hanging from the skylight. "We're going to have to assume it was you."

"I didn't kill Emilio," she pushed back the photo of PFC Salazar. "And I sure as hell didn't kill Tyler."

"Then who did?"

҉

**INTERRIGATION ROOM 2**

Langer asked the same question to Carmado, to which he answered, "Me. I killed that little bitch."

"You killed PFC Salazar?" Lee asked.

"Yeah, I did it." Carmado looked down back Langer. He smiled. "You got me. That fool deserved to die."

"How'd it go down, Victor?" Langer asked. He wouldn't be convinced until Popeye gave him details.

"I shot him – that's how it went down." He looked up at Lee and put two fingers, in the shape of a gun, to his head. "Put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger. Blew his brains out. Light's out, baby. JFK style. Back and to the left, you know what I mean? "

Langer and Lee exchanged a significant look. Victor was either wasting their time, wanted to go to prison, or was covering for someone. Those are the only reasons Langer could think of as to why he was lying.

҉

**INTERRIGATION ROOM 1**

"One shot to the chest." Gibbs said softly. "That's what killed your friend. They didn't die right away, no, it took time. Twenty minutes maybe."

"Bullets nicked their heart." Mike added. "Blood poured into their lungs. Remember, Ann?"

"No," Ann said. He voice wavered, her hands clasped on the table, he eyes down.

"They would have had trouble breathing." Mike placed his hands on the table, leaning forward. "The pain must have been excruciating. But you know all this, don't you?"

"I wasn't there!" Ann yelled. Her hands flew up to the side of her face, shielding her from Mike. Her red eyes started to water and her breaths became shorter. It took everything Gibbs had to not reach out and touch her.

҉

**HALLWAY**

"Popeye didn't kill 'em." Langer said. He leaned against the wall as he and Lee waited for Gibbs and Mike to walk out.

"No way a kid like that took down a Marine." Lee said as they walked, Gibbs and Mike taking the lead.

"Probably taking credit for a street kill to elevate his stature." Mike said.

"Get anything on the mysterious Ann G.?" Langer probed.

"She's scared." Gibbs said as he turned into the Bullpen.

"She's hiding something." Mike said.

"They both are," Lee added.

"Something more going on than that." Gibbs said. He stood in front of his desk and check his computer for any updates.

"You're right, Probie." Mike said as he stood in the middle of the Bullpen. Beta-Team was at their desks, listening to him while checking for updates. "Gangbangers don't kidnap their enemies. They shoot them in the street. Somebody's pulling strings, calling shots."

"I think I know who, sir." Keating said from his desk. When Gibbs looked up at him, he lost some of his nerve. "I-I mean, boss….Agent Gibbs…"

"What've you got, Keating?" Gibbs sighed.

"I've been crosschecking the Metro Gang Task Force's list of known PC members against cell numbers registered in their names. One common phone number keeps popping up." He kept his eyes on his screen, and not Gibbs, as he pulled up information on to the big screen. "It's a number from outside the neighborhood that called almost every member of the PC gang."

When the DOD Military Service Record speared on the screen, Lee said with some disbelief, "That's the C.O. from the shooting range."

"Staff sergeant Vicente Medina," Langer confirmed.

"That's not all. I looked into the staff sergeant's history." Keating continued. By now, both Mike and Gibbs were standing by his desk looking at the screen. "It seems he shares a bit more than phone records in common." He did some more typing and brought up Medina's Juvenile record. He zoomed in on one of the tattoos. "He wasn't just recruiting from the PCs. He was a member."

"Get him in here," Gibbs ordered, walking back to his desk as his phone rang. Langer and Lee stood up from their desks, grabbed their packs, and quickly walked to the elevator. "Yeah, Gibbs."

"_Need you in my office_." Leon Vance's voice said from the other side of the line.

"I'll be right there."

҉

**VANCE'S OFFICE**

Leon stood behind his desk, Gibbs in front, and dropped a file on to it. Gibbs cocked his head slightly to read it.

"What is it?"

"Several things - Metro incident report involving an NIS agent, Metro arrest records, and even a missing persons report." Leon tapped his finger on it. "All involving you, Gibbs. I haven't read it yet, and I won't if you'd prefer I didn't. I thought it might shed some light on what happened in sixteen years ago…unless you'd prefer to."

"I got nothing to hide, Leon." Gibbs said simply.

"Everybody's got something to hide." He pointed a finger at the other man. "Your something just might be downstairs behind a cold, steel table." Leon brought his finger down and waited a beat. "Franks a part of this?"

Gibbs shrugged. "Little part."

"Hm." Leon picked up the file.

As Gibbs was turning to go, he said, "Last five pages should clear this up for you."

As soon as Leon heard the doors close and the elevator ding, he resumed his seat behind his desk and began to read the file. The first thing he saw when he opened it up was a picture of Gibbs, seventeen years younger, with his arms wrapped around a beautiful red-head's waist. They were smiling towards the camera and obviously happy.

҉

**INTERRIGATION ROOM 3**

Gibbs and Mike walk in to find SSgt. Medina sitting behind the steel table, starring at himself in the mirror. Mike took the seat on the other side of the table and flipped it around before sitting down, laying down the file that was in his hands. Gibbs calmly sat down in the extra chair in the corner of the room.

"How many men have you killed?" He asked.

Medina shifted uncomfortably at Gibbs question. "Seven confirmed, sir."

"Where?"

"Three in Anbar, two in Fallujah, one in Baghdad, one in Tora Bora."

As Gibbs spoke, Mike took out the photo of PFC Salazar hanging from the skylight and the photo of Tyler Cosgrove crawling for help and laid them side by side on the table in front of Medina.

"How about Washington D.C?"

"None," Medina said. He looked over at Gibbs, offended.

Gibbs got up and walked over to the table, laying his hands down and leaned forward. "You knew Emilio Salazar?"

"His platoon sergeant, sir."

"He's a gang member just like you are." Gibbs yelled. Mike took out Medina's mugshot and placed it next to Tyler's picture.

"That was a long time ago," Medina said softly.

Gibbs slammed his hand down on Salazar's picture. "That was last night!"

"Sir, I did not kill that Marine!" Medina yelled.

"What were you doing last night?" Mike asked calmly.

He sighed. "I was at home watching TV."

"Anybody watching you watching TV?" Mike asked sarcastically.

Again, Medina sighed. "No."

"Your place is twenty minutes from our crime scene." Mike opened the file and reviewed the notes. He took out the phone records and placed them next to Salazar's picture. "Phone records. You made contact with half the PC posse over the past six months." Mike opened the file fully and placed it on top of everything. "Rap sheet; yours. Shot caller for the PCs for three years. Once a Marine, always a Marine."

"Or once a PC, always a PC." Gibbs piped up from the door.

"I lived the life. It's not a secret." Medina admitted. "I liked it till I saw what was happening to my friends; in jail or dead by 17." His tone rose with passion. "So I joined the Marine Corps. Made me a better person. Came back to the hood and tried to convince others to make something of themselves."

There was a knock at the door. While Mike and Medina had a starring competition at the table, Gibbs opened the door to see lee's nervous face.

"Agent Gibbs, I am so sorry to interrupt-"

"Lee…"

"Right, uh, I ran a system-wide facial recognition search."

"And?"

"Thought you might want to see this right away." She handed him the file and stood there as he thumbed through it.

Gibbs nodded to her and closed the door. He walked back to the table, handed Mike the file, and told Medina, "Okay, let's try this again. Where were you last night?"

"I-I told you I was at home."

Mike took out the first photo from the file and laid it on the table – it was an ATM security photo taken off Medina at the time of the murder. Gibbs slammed his hand down on the photo and yelled, "Bullshit! That was taken in Baltimore last night. You couldn't have killed him." He lowered his voice and leaned down close. "Why are you lying?"

Medina scrubbed his jaw with his hand. "I went to visit my son."

Mike closed his eyes in sympathy. The Marine's record said nothing about a kid, so it must've been a secret.

Medina continued, "When I was 15, I made some mistakes. I got a girl pregnant. And my wife..." He shook his head. Mike got out of his chair and Gibbs backed off. "She doesn't know I have a kid."

Mike walked to the back corner of the room and motioned Gibbs over. He said softly, "I know what we've got; nothing." He looked over at Gibbs with another sympathetic look in his eyes. "Guess you're not the only one to have made a mistake, Probie."

҉

**BULLPEN**

Mike was pacing through the center of the bullpen, going over what they had so far aloud, as Lee and Langer listened from their desks.

"Got two, possibly three, people chained to a roof. On of 'em is a Marine. Don't know why they're there. Got somebody behind it pulling strings. Don't know who."

"Can we take a step back and find out what Gibbs' connection to this case is?" Langer asked. He saw Mike shift uncomfortably, avoiding eye contact.

"Or how it's related to the gangs?" Lee asked.

Mike pretended that he didn't hear them and kept going. "Got a punk who didn't kill anybody who says he did, and a scared girl who wrote Probie's service number in blood saying she didn't."

"You done?" Gibbs asked as he walked into the bullpen and to his desk.

"Done watching you shave with a butter knife!" Mike said. He walked up to Gibbs as he was putting on his coat. Langer and Lee saw, and readied their gear. "Let me talk to Ann. I'll get her to tell us what the hell's going on."

"Can't do that, Mike."

"And why the hell not?"

"Because I let her go."

His face dropped. "You what?" He stepped closer and took his Probie's arm, whispering, "You are too damn close to this, Probie. Knowing about her clouded your judgment-"

Gibbs pulled his arm away and started walking towards the elevator, saying, "If you want to find something, you follow it." He was almost there when Lee and Langer almost bumped into him, gear on their backs. "Where do you think you're going?"

"With you, boss." Langer said.

"No. You two," He looked up and saw Leon making his way down the stairs and towards him, a look of rage upon his face, "MTAC with Keating. Go."

"Yes, boss." Lee said.

Leon turned the corner from the stairs and upon seeing that Lee and Langer were putting their gear away and that Gibbs was resuming his walk to the elevator, he yelled, "Agent Gibbs!"

Gibbs didn't stop walking, in fact, he picked up a follower – Mike Franks.

"Agent Gibbs, stop immediately!" Leon picked up his pace. "Agent Gibbs, you will not leave this building!"

The elevator door closed before Leon could reach them.

҉

**ELEVATOR**

It was quite in the elevator as Mike and Gibbs rode down side by side. They were nearly to the ground floor when Mike finally said,

"Think I don't know what you're doing? Trying to get that girl off?"

"Yeah, gonna lead us to the truth."

"The truth," Mike scoffed.

"Yeah," Gibbs raised his voice, Turing to Mike. "What you should told me seventeen years ago!"

Mike sighed angrily and flipped the switch that stopped the elevator. The fluorescent lights went out. He turned to Gibbs and said firmly, "When I brought Ashley to Washington Heights, she was scarred shitless. Told me to not to tell you a thing, which wasn't hard because I knew about just as much! I stopped by one day, see if she was still there. That's when I figured it out – why she ran. I wanted to tell you, but by then you were happily married again."

"What's the truth, Mike!" Gibbs yelled. Mike could see through Gibbs eyes all the frantic thoughts going through his head. His eyes were wide, confused. "I-I've got a letter from a dead woman telling me one thing and my partner's telling me nothing! I could wait on DNA to tell me, but…" he sighed, his hand pulling at his hair. He lowered his voice and said, almost helplessly, "I need you to tell me the truth, Mike. Please. I-I need to know."

"The truth is, she didn't want you to know!" he whispered fiercely. "She knew you were still putting the pieces together after Shannon and Kelly. She was nothing more than a whore you sought comfort in. She didn't want to complicate your life." He flicked the switch back to start the elevator. "Guess she didn't get her wish after all."

It took him a few moments more to put the pieces together of what Mike was telling him. When Mike went back to see her, he saw that she had a daughter. He saw that Gibbs had a baby daughter. He saw Ann and put it all together.

It was official now. Ann G. was his daughter.

҉

**CAR**

Okay, boss, we're still following the GPS signal Ann G.'s cell phone." Keating was telling Gibbs over the phone. "She drove to Kensington Street. She's been there about 20 minutes."

Gibbs clicked his phone closed and made an extremely sharp U-turn in the middle of the road. In the passenger seat, Mike said nervously, "Kensington Sreet's that way, Probie."

"We're not going to Kensington. That's her first stop. We're going to her last."

"And that is?"

҉

**MTAC**

As Keating was tracking Ann's phone, the three Beta-Team members compared theories on why this case was so personal to their no-emotions boss. Exasperated, Langer sighed, "What was he doing in Liberty Heights sixteen years ago!"

"Seventeen years ago, Langer" Leon said as stormed furiously into the room. He pointed at the screen, sarcastically saying, "Do you want to share this with your Director?"

"We're, uh, tracking a suspect for Special Agent Gibbs, Director." Lee said timidly.

"Franks with him?"

"Yes, sir."

Leon gave a sharp nod. "This suspect you're tracking. Name happens to be Ann G.?"

"Yes, sir." Keating said.

"Suspect Ann G. is Gibbs' daughter. Ms. Sciuto's DNA tests have confirmed it." Leon announced, shocking the team. "He has a conflicted interest in this case and therefore will not be heading it any longer. I will."

Keating's computer beeped. Stunned by the news, it took him a few moments to report on it. "Ann just left Kensington Street and is heading for Liberty Heights."

"What do you want us to do?" Langer asked.

"Whatever you were doing before I walked in here."

҉

**LIBERTY HEIGHTS**

**CRIME SCENE**

"Hey, if this kid starts shooting, you're gonna shoot back, right?" Mike asked honestly as they ascended the stairs that led up to last night's crime scene. Before Gibbs could answer, his phone began to buzz in his pocket. He checked the I.D, flipped it open, and said,

"This is a really bad time, Leon."

_"I am un-officially taking you off this case as of this moment."_

"And officially?"

_"Be sure that Franks is the one making the arrest. We can manage that. What we can't manage is a rouge agent chasing down his long-lost bastard child with the help of his elderly ex-partner."_

"If you just called to tear me a new one-"

"_No. Weapon's storage of a rival gang of the PC's was raided. Kensington Street. Four crates of M-4 assault rifles. Ann is in with the P.C.s. We're still monitoring her GPS. Looks like she's heading back towards-"_

"The projects," Gibbs pulled out his gun and crouched down, spotting her. "We got her."

Gibbs hung up and his behind a large concrete wall with Mike and watched as Ann rolled in four crates. She placed them in the middle of the room and started dialing her cell phone.

"I did what you wanted, okay?!" She listened for a bit. "No! You listen to me! You want them, you come get them. Second floor. I'm waiting."

As she was talking, Gibbs and Mike quietly crept from pillar to pillar to get a better view.

"This is about to get real interesting, Probie." Mike said. When Gibbs wouldn't look at him, Mike tapped his arm. "You had best be ready for whatever's about to go down. Daughter or no daughter."

From her voice and the way she had been acting earlier, Gibbs knew she was in deep and that she needed help. Something in him switched from agent to father in about three seconds after seeing her pace anxiously by the crates, wringing her hands. That's when he saw something on another building.

He quickly dialed a number on his phone. "Yeah, Keating, building across the street. Traffic camera, 3837 Ashton."

Gibbs could hear typing in the background, then, "_Got it."_

"Record it."

"_Recording._" Keating said and Gibbs hung up.

A few seconds later, two street thugs wearing similar clothing as Victor Carmado walked up the stairs. Gibbs held up two fingers to Mike, signaling him on the number of bad guys. He nodded and rushed off, crouching down, moving behind concrete pillars and walls to get a better angle.

"You alone?" The taller of the gangbangers asked, walking towards Ann.

҉

**MTAC**

Leon stood in the center of the room, watching what was happening through the traffic camera. Langer stood over Keating's shoulder and pointed.

"Zoom in on those guys." Keating did and Lee turned to Langer.

"Are those..?"

"Yeah." Langer said, He straightened up and turned to Vance. "Victor Carmado's guys."

҉

**LIBERTY HEIGHTS**

"You got 'em?" The taller banger asked.

That's when SSgt. Medina showed up with his gun, yelling, "Freeze! Freeze! Freeze! Put your hands in the air! Put your hands in the air!" Ann immediately did, her eyes wide and terrified. The gangbangers slowly followed suit. "You thought you were gonna use Marine guns to kill my friends?"

Gibbs and Mike both moved closer, still trying to stay as much hidden as possible. The banger's slowly turned around to face Medina.

"No." Medina said, his hand gripping his gun tighter. "This ends here."

The bangers exchanged brief glances before pulling their guns out of their waistbands. Medina shot first – killing the smaller banger. The bigger one shot Medina in his right arm. He went down. Ann dove behind the crates, pulling her knees to her chest and covering her head with her hands.

Mike and Gibbs stepped out from where they were hiding and began to shoot. Big Banger ducked behind a four-foot dumpster to his left. Thinking he was clear, he spotted Ann and aimed his gun at her. She starred back at him, horror-struck. He was about to pull the trigger with this horrible grin on his face when Mike came from the side and hot him three times in the chest.

Gibbs tactically made his way over to SSgt Medina and crouched beside him. "Don't move, Sergeant," he ordered as he pocketed the gun beside him. Medina nodded.

Mike moved from the smaller banger – dead from Medina's bullets – to the bigger banger. He knelt down beside him and check for a pulse. When he found none, he pocketed the gun. Out of the corner of his eyes, he noticed bright, unruly red hair trembling behind the crates. He sighed and decided against his better judgment to call Gibbs over. When his Probie looked up from the wounded sergeant, Mike nodded his head to the crates. Gibbs nodded back and walked over there, Mike took his place by the sergeant, telling him, "Just keep pressure on it and you'll be fine."

Gibbs quietly walked over to the crates and saw what Mike was nodding to – his daughter, Ann, had her knees jammed against her chest, her hands covering her head, and her body trembling terribly from shock and adrenaline. He knelt down in front of her and slowly reached out his hand to touch her knee. The contact scared her, causing her to scream and try to crawl away. Gibbs held out his hands, whispering,

"Ann. Ann, it's all right. It's all right, Ann. You're safe now."

She looked up at him with the wide, bright blue eyes. Seeing something comforting, something familiar, in the man's eyes slowly washed her fear away. Without thinking, she wrapped her arms around his neck and began to sob softly into his chest. He leaned back, simultaneously pulling her into his lap, while whispering in her hair, "You're safe now."

Gibbs' phone began to buzz in his pocket. He dug it out and tossed it over his shoulder for Mike to catch.

"Hey, Leon."

"Let me talk to him."

"He's busy. Can I take a message?"

"You just shot somebody, Franks!"

"Yeah. All by the book, Leon. Retired-agent-involved shooting." He looked up at the security camera that Leon was watching him through. "That's still a form KJ-65,right?"

Mike snapped the phone closed. Gibbs walked up with Ann attached to his side. She probably didn't know anything about him, so Mike figured it was the shock.

"It was me." Medina said as they stopped beside him. "I convinced her to break into a rival gang's stash and bring them here."

"Why?"

"Because I was-"

"Not you," Gibbs told Medina. He stepped away from Ann slightly so he could see her fully. "You."

"Tyler and Marcus wanted me to meet a friend of theirs, Emilio. They were so proud of him, becoming a Marine. We were walking around, catching up, when out of nowhere…" Ann shuddered. "Marcus was the first to go down. They thought he was dead so they moved on to the rest of us. They held us on a roof."

"Then what?"

"T-They starting beating Emilio up when he refused to-to take the guns from an armory in Quantico. They beat him and beat him and beat him and…" She closed her eyes, tears dripping out. When she opened them again, she was doing her best to breath. "They shot him in front of us. Ty-Tyler lost it. He was screaming, we both were, but he fought the hardest. He-he managed to shake off the guys holding him and attacked. They-they struggled, the gun went off." She gasped, "They shot Tyler! He-he just laid there on the ground, gasping, but he just kept chocking. Blood was everywhere, I-I just wanted to get out of there-"

"Easy," Gibbs said, squeezing her shoulder reassuringly. "Take a deep breath. Breath."

She did. In though her nose, shakily, out through her mouth, steadily. "I thought they were going to kill me too."

"That why you wrote my service number?"

Ann shifted uncomfortably, looking around, anywhere but Gibbs. Medina stepped in. "I told her not to. Her and Marcus."

"Why?"

"Using Marine guns to kill kids in my hood, kids I was trying to save, it made me sick. I wanted to handle it myself. We take care of our own."

"That we do." Gibbs said as he stared at the scared woman in front of him.

҉

**NCIS**

**INTERRIGATION ROOM 1**

Ann, again, sat behind the cold steel table. Lee was in the room with her.

"Is that all you have to say?" Lee asked.

"Yes." Ann sighed. She wanted this all to be over with. "I did it, I admit it. I'll give you a full confession."

On the other side of the glass, Marcus stood and watched with Gibbs by his side.

"Can I – can I talk to her?" Marcus asked.

"No, she's going to prison." Gibbs said quietly. Saying those words burned a hole in his stomach.

"Please, I-"

"She stole Marine weapons to arm a street gang," Mike said, walking up to him. "People died."

"She confessed to everything." Gibbs told him. On the other side of the glass, they watched as Langer walked in and put cuffs on her. "All of it, her idea. And she's going away." He slowly turned to Marcus and added, "Unless you've got something to say."

Marcus hesitated a moment, shaking his head. "Wait. She didn't do  
anything. She's lying."

Gibbs nodded to Mike who pressed the speaker button that filtered into the interrogation room. "Hold up a second."

What Marcus didn't know was that, Mike kept his finger on the button as he gave a confession.

"Nobody was supposed to get hurt. They were just supposed to scare them so that Emilio would get the guns for the PC's. Emilio wasn't supposed to get shot. That was an accident, I swear."

"Who needed the weapons, Marcus?" Mike asked, keeping his finger on the speaker.

"The kids. In the neighborhood, on the block. They were getting killed every day. Slaughtered by drug dealers and bigger gangs. They are dying every day! I had to protect them."

"By what, arming them with assault rifles?" Gibbs asked.

"My drunkenly abusive dad talked about the cold war as if they were his glory days – spies and military and shit. Talking about deterrence - if you build up an arsenal that rivals your enemy's, they won't attack you." Gibbs could clearly see the fanatic spark in the teenager's eyes. "You understand?"

"You used that girl like a whore," Gibbs said, pointing through the window at Ann. Marcus could see the devastated look upon her face and realized that she had heard every word. "Turn around. You're under arrest."

҉

**CONFERENCE ROOM **

Gibbs stood in the doorway and watched Ann hungrily eat the four burgers, two waters, one salad, and several fruits that he had sent up to her. She probably hasn't had a decent meal in a while or a change of clothes for that matter. He also had that sent up as well – an old pair of NCIS sweats. She refused to throw away her converse.

She finally noticed him a third of the way through her meal. Her cheeks blushed furiously, her eyes darting down as she put her last burger down. "I look like a pig."

"You look like a hungry teenager." He said, smiling slightly as he walked in. He held a white box.

"Do you want some?" She offered. "I don't think I can finish."

"No, you eat." He sat down with the box and toyed with it while she finished as much as she could.

"What's in the box?" She asked softly, trying to make conversation.

"I'll get to that, but first-"

"I'm going to jail, aren't I?" Her face dropped, the color draining. "Give her a last meal before shipping her out, huh?"

"No, you're not going to jail." She looked slightly confused. "You helped the investigation. It's your boyfriend Marcus and Staff Sergeant Medina who will be going to jail."

Relief coursed through her bringing the color back to her face. Her hand went to her chest, toying with something under her shirt. After a moment of silence, she spoke softly, "Do you want to hear a story, Agent Gibbs?"

"Sure," he said just as softly.

She reached around to the back of her neck and unclasped her necklace. When she pulled it out of her shirt, Gibbs saw it was the locket he had bought Ashley – the locket Ashley had given to Ann the last time she saw her.

"I don't remember much of my childhood, nightmares mostly. What I can remember is this beautiful woman with red hair and green eyes. I must have been young, because everything is all bright and alien." Ann smiled down at the locket. "One of the clearest memories I have is of her pulling me into her lap and telling me that everything was going to be all right. That she loved me. That she would always love me and that we would see each other again. She was crying; still so beautiful when she cried." Gibbs watched Ann wipe a tear from her eye. "She unhooked this locket from her neck and put it around mine and said, 'If you're ever lost or in trouble, look to us to find your way home. One of us will find you." She opened the locket and handed it to Gibbs.

Inside was a picture of him and Ashley on one side and etched on the other was his service number with a 'G' on the end. He looked at her and she looked at him, red rimmed eyes, biting her bottom lip.

"When you said that was your service number, I almost had a heart attack. I always thought, never in a million years, would you ever come. But you did." She smiled sadly. "You found me." She gasped softly, breathing back sobs. "Please say you found me."

Gibbs, even, had tears in his eyes. He knew they would never spill out, but they were there nonetheless. He said quietly and after a moment, "I found you..."

Ann broke down. She covered her mouth with one hand, sobbing uncontrollably, and with the other gripped her father's hand tightly with the locket in between them.

"Come here," he said, pulling her hand closer. "Come here." She unsteadily got out of her chair and more-or-less collapsed in Gibbs' arms. She curled up into a ball and wept in his chest as he held her hand and stroked her back. When she had finally calmed down enough to small tremors, he asked gently, "Can I show you something?"

She nodded into his chest. He moved her slightly so that she could see the white box on the table.

"What's in it?"

"Answers."

҉

**VANCE'S OFFICE**

"You broke half a dozen agency rules today, Gibbs." Leon firmly told Gibbs. The older man stood in front of his desk like a soldier, proud and tall. "You knew she was your kid and instead of stepping down from the investigation, you called in Franks and pursued it while keeping you team in the dark! Can you explain yourself, because I sure as hell can't."

"I didn't know she was my kid until Mike and I were on our way to arrest her in the Projects."

"But you brought Franks in. You must've had some inkling to have done that." Gibbs didn't answer. "Fact remains that you compromised this case by staying involved. If the roles were reversed and one of your team members was pulling this crap, you would handcuff them to their desks."

"Case is rock solid. Confessions from all parties involved."

Leon wanted to say more, but he felt like he made his point. Being only human, he was still curious about something else. "I read that file."

"Thought you might've."

"After your wife and daughter died, you sought comfort in a whore house, fell in love, knocked one of them up. She ran. You had no idea where she was, everyone was saying different things, so you filed a missing persons report. Metro never got around to it."

"Knew all that," Gibbs said briskly.

"Then I guess you know you had one of my forensic scientists use federal equipment off the books, again breaking agency rules, and that Mike Franks has left for Mexico."

"Anything I don't know, Leon?"

Leon leaned back in his chair, waiting to gauge Gibbs' reaction to the following statement. "I called Social Services an hour ago."

"You did what?" Gibbs nearly yelled.

"They should be here to collect the girl soon."

"You mean my daughter-"

"Is she really?" Leon asked, raising his voice.

"Yes." Gibbs stubbornly set his jaw. He turned on his heel and walked to the door. "She is my daughter, Leon, and she is coming home with me."


	2. Chapter 2

**MARLOW'S BAR AND GRILL**

It's been three weeks since Ann moved off the streets and into her dad's home. The word "Dad", "Father", they seemed so…strange on her tongue. It had always been her, and then her, Tyler, and Marcus. But now Tyler as six-feet-under, Marcus was in prison, and Ann had a new family. A slightly unconventional family, but a solid family nonetheless: Leroy Jethro Gibbs, her newfound father; Donald "Ducky" Mallard, her "grand-father" figure; Abigail Sciuto and Timothy McGee were her "aunt" and "uncle", but Ann was coming to know them more as some-what siblings and, more importantly, her first real friends.

She knows of Ziva David and Anthony DiNozzo from photographs and stories, but has never spoken to them. They were more like legends than actual people. Abby has established a routine where she will call Ann every night, just to talk, and without fail she would mention the two former agents. Ann would be lying if she said that she didn't hope that the former Major Cases Unit was re-established. He father's "Beta Team", as Ducky calls them, was possibly the biggest cluster-fuck Ann could think of with a team.

Besides her visits to the Navy Yard, the past three weeks have been busy for Ann with rebuilding and decorating of her new room (with the expert help of Abby), enrolling in Washington High School as a junior, and waitressing at Marlow's Bar and Grill – a rustic diner/restaurant a couple of blocks from the Navy Yard so Ann would see a few NCIS agents every now and then.

Speaking of Marlow's, she was there working, dressed in her smartly in her uniform – black shorts, white V-neck with the logo in green on her left breast, neon pink tennis shoes and a small dark green apron tied around her waist – when her life had changed again.

She had a unique gift for spotting out certain types of people from her time on the streets, but law enforcement was her specialty. She hadn't grown too concerned until he sat down in the far corner of her section. Ann didn't know who he worked for – local or federal – yet she had a feeling she was going to soon find out.

"Denise?" Ann asked, turning to the other waitress standing beside her at the bar. She was in her mid-twenties with strategically-messy blonde hair and unsympathetic blue eyes.

"What do you want, match-stick?" Denise asked viciously under her breathe as she turned away from the rather large banker she was flirting with. "Can't you see that I'm busy, or are you actually blind?"

"Thought you might want an upgrade," Ann said humbly enough, pushing up the thick black frames of my glasses. Her thick milkmaid French braid pulled her hair away to give focus to her glasses. "Guy in the back of my section asked for a new waitress and he was eyeing you so…But I mean, if you're busy-"

Before she could finish, Denise had pushed up her boobs in her bra, lowered her shirt and sashayed her way to the booth. Ann hid a smile behind her tray. Corbin Marlow, the owner, looked up from the drink he was mixing and gave her a tiny smile. He was in his late thirties with a steady girlfriend, who was also a co-owner of the bar, and two kids under the age of ten. He had Paul Newman blue eyes, short cropped blonde hair, and an almost permanent suntan. And although he look slight in build, Ann herself had witnessed him take on three drunks single-handedly.

"That was mean."

"It's not totally _untrue_. I mean, he was looking at her."

"Uh-oh," Corbin muttered, nodding to something over Ann's shoulder. "Hurricane Denise, incoming."

Ann slowly turned around to see Denise storming furiously towards them. She stopped a few inches from Ann.

"Oh, you have got some nerve, fire-crotch." She glared at her darkly as she stormed off past the kitchen hatch and to the break room where she shoved an innocent busboy out of her way. The dishes he was carrying clattered noisily to the ground.

Ann whined as she faced Corbin. "Sorry."

Corbin shook his head. "Attend the customer. If there's a problem, I'm sure the several NCIS agents in the room can handle it."

"But keep an eye out just in case?" Corbin sighed, reaching down and pulling a metal baseball onto the bar. "Thanks."

She picked up her tray and pad and went over to the mysterious man's table. He was lost in thought for a moment, so Ann had time to give him a quick glance over. He was a little less than six feet. He had dark brown, well-kept hair that was slightly sprinkled with strands of silver. He had a fresh sun tan which suggested he hasn't been in D.C for too long, probably came in from somewhere sunnier. His tin lips were sharply sculpted; his nose was slightly crooked from a fist fight a few years back. When he looked up, she saw his eyes matched the silver in his hair.

"My name's Ann and I'll be your server tonight. What can I get you started off with?"

"Two glasses of water, please. No ice."

Ann jotted it down. "Anyone else joining you tonight, sir?"

"Perhaps," he cocked his head to the side slightly.

"I-I'll be right back with your waters, sir." Ann strode off. She gave Corbin the orders and calmed down a little while she waited. Corbin poured the two glasses, no ice, looking over at the man's table as he put them on the tray.

"He want anything else?"

"Nope. Just the waters. I think he's waiting for someone."

Corbin didn't comment. I checked the glasses for no ice before making my way back to the man's table. I put the waters one the table. The menu laid on the table next to his folded hands as I asked,

"Are you ready to order or would you like more time?"

"I'm not interested in the food, thank you." He said politely.

"Alrighty then," She rocked back on her heels, tapping her pen on her pad book. "Holler if ya need me." She turned to walk away, but the man quickly got hold of her wrist. "Let go of me." She tried to yank her wrist free, but he was much stronger than he appeared. She cast a concerned glance over her shoulder at Corbin. A rather large man was blocking Corbin's view.

"Miss Gibbs, please clam. I have no intention of harming you."

"Then let go of my wrist," Ann hissed and the man let go. She cradled her wrist and rubbed them. "How do you know my name?"

"I know quite a bit about you, Miss Gibbs." He held out his hand to the bench opposite him. "Please, sit." Ann hesitantly sat, constantly looking over her shoulder at Corbin. The man looked amused. "If you feel more comfortable looking at your boss, we can trade seats?"

Ann held back a retort. "I'm fine, thanks. Want to tell me how you've come to know my name?"

"I've seen you record – police and otherwise. Quite impressive, I might say so myself." He pulled out a file from his jacket. He laid it out on the table, yet kept it from her view, and read off it. "Excellent grifter and thief; language skills include French and Spanish. You started stealing when you were…six, but didn't become a skilled until age nine or ten. By twelve you were in a car-jacking gang, boosting for a chop-shop, starting as a getaway driver and then climbing the ranks to mechanic. We lost track of you for a little bit, but found you several months ago in Houston." He looked up from the folder and sincerely said, "I am truly sorry about that. Couldn't get our man in there fast enough-"

"'Our man'? 'We lost track of you'?" Ann quoted skeptically, looking disgusted. "Who the hell are you?" He closed the folder and sipped his water calmly. "And how do you know all that? _None_ of that is in _any_ of my files!" When he didn't say anything, just smiled, she crossed her arms and sighed heavily. "Since you know quite a bit about me, it's only fair you share."

"What are we, communists?" He chuckled, sipping the water. "All will be revealed, come time."

"What are you, Yoda?"

He chuckled again. He slid the folder off the table and put it back, retrieving a small card afterwards. It was white with raised black lettering.

"Tell you what," he said, writing on the back. "I'll leave my card. When you're up to it," he slid the card across the table, "come find me."

He silently got up and left, tipping his head towards Denise sarcastically. She glared at them both. On the back of the card he wrote an address in pen and on the other side was his actual information: Elias Finch, _Finch Investigations and Operations._

҉

**GIBBS' HOME**

Ann sat on the kitchen counter, gently kicking her feet as she thumbed the card in her hand. She sat and thought about this mysterious man – Elias Finch. He seemed genuine enough with the job offer, yet with his file on her and using 'we' made Ann think there was more. Was it a Federal sting operation? If so, her father would know. Jethro seemed to know everything.

No matter, Ann was defiantly going to find out more before she went through with the offer.

Headlights shown through the curtains, the sound of an engine cutting off and a door slamming. A few moments later, Jethro came through the front door with a few files in one hand, his coat draped over his arm, and a small brown bag in the other hand.

"Ann? You home?" Jethro called out from the foyer where he was hanging up his coat and stripping his shoes off.

"Kitchen!" She called back before quickly stuffing the card into the pocket of her thin, white zip-hoodie. Jethro came in, placed the files on the table and the brown bag next to Ann. "What's this?"

"Take-out and frozen yogurt." He began to make himself a pot of coffee. "Didn't know if you've eaten yet."

"No, I haven't, thanks." She opens the bag and gently removed the contents – Chinese takeout box, cup of frozen yogurt, a fork and spoon. "How was work?"

Jethro poured coffee in his Marine Corps mug. "Dead Petty Officer in a trailer park."

"So…nothing new?"

Jethro shrugged, troubled. "Found a connection between Vargo, the dead P.O, and his friend, P.O Roberts, also dead. Roberts was blown up in Morocco last night."

"But that's not what's bothering you."

"No," he shook his head. "Ziva David-"

"Your former agent-"

"-was in the club when it blew."

"Oh my God!" Ann said, hopping off the counter. "Is she all right? Is she…?"

"No, no. Paramedics carried her out. Got a hold of her a few hours ago in Mossad; turns out she was undercover, trying to get the attention of someone who had an unhealthy interest in a Chechnyen terrorist group."

"Roberts involved with them?"

"No, they think he was the target of the blast."

Ann leaned against the kitchen counter, twirling noodles around her plastic fork as she thought. "Who tipped them off?"

Jethro took a long swing of coffee. "Director Vance."

"Vance, the guy who broke up your team? I know he runs an agency, but, come one, how would he know about Chechnyen terrorists?"

Jethro nods his head towards the small table, gesturing to sit down. Jethro sat quietly for a few moments, letting Ann eat a good portion of her take-out, before continuing. "I tried talking to McGee about it, but he couldn't tell me anything – orders. That's when I put some puzzle pieces together and confronted Vance about the case."

"What'd he say?" Ann said around a mouthful of noodles.

"That he broke up my team for a reason." Jethro takes another sip of coffee. "Five months ago, Vance got a series of anonymous calls from a Navy PO."

"Vargo."

Jethro nodded. "He wouldn't say what sort of data he was being blackmailed to steal. Vance went to DC to meet him but he never showed. Whoever was blackmailing Vargo was an NCIS agent."

"Not one of your guys?" Ann asked, shocked. From what she heard about DiNozzo and Ziva and what she knows about McGee, she couldn't possibly think it was one of them.

"Vance narrowed it down to three agents and replaced my team with them."

"Oh God," Ann choked on her noodles. They fell from her mouth and back into the container unladylike. "Langer, Keating and Lee?!" Jethro nodded, finishing off the last of the coffee in his mug. "When was he going to tell you he was using you?"

"He's got shit for evidence and he knows it."

"Do you have any doubts about them?"

"I got a doubt about every one of them. I got a former FBI guy who doesn't listen, a boy genius who doesn't drive and a lawyer who doesn't shoot!"

"Okay, so why was your team moved to where they were?"

"McGee was put in the basement to work his way through seven layers of encryption, but that after 4 months they've gotten nothing. Ziva was sent back to Mossad to mount an operation to pick up Roberts in Morocco as he was willing to sell the name of the NCIS traitor but they weren't quick enough."

"And Vargo is dead because he was a loose end."

"Exactly." Jethro scrubbed his face with his hand, moving it down to rub the back of his neck. "Meet with Vance and McGee in the basement where they caught me up to speed."

"How bad is it?"

"Bad."

҉

**ANN'S ROOM**

Ann was wrapped in the fluffy white sheets of her four poster bed, satin white canopy curtains acted as a shield between her and the outside world. In her hand was her cheeseburger landline Abby had gotten her and in the other hand was Finch's business card. After several false starts, he sighed heavily and flung the card across the bed. She pulled out a small memo pad she kept in her bedside table. She opened it up and stopped at a certain number and dialed it. There were three rings before somebody picked up.

"_McGee_."

"Hey, Tim, it's Ann."

"_Ann! Is everything okay?"_

"Yeah, yeah. Jethro is doing paperwork downstairs. I'm in my room."

"_Okay. I don't mean to sound rude, but if you're calling just to talk_-"

"I need a favor."

Tim paused. "_What type of favor_?"

"The kind of favor that involves a computer and a federal database?" She chewed on the bottom of her lip.

"_Nothing illegal, I hope, because your dad_-"

"Nothing like that. Just a simple background check, that's all."

"_Is everything okay, Ann?"_ Tim asked, genuinely concerned.

"Why wouldn't it be?" Before he could answer, she continued. "Look, if I give you the name, could you e-mail me what you find?"

Tim sighed. "_If I were to do this, it didn't come from me. Understand_?"

She smiled. "Of course. Thanks, Uncle Timmy."

Tim chuckled. _"You should have it within an hour_."

And true to his word, an hour later Ann's computer began to beep from the edge of her bed. She put down the book she was reading – _The Great Gatsby_ by F. Scott Fitzgerald – and scooped up her laptop into her lap. Accessing her e-mail, she quickly clicked on the file link Tim had sent her and downloaded the file. Next to a picture of the man she knew as Elias Finch were several pages of text and more photos.

Ann read over the report once more, skimming through photographs of the F.I.O building and its employees. After reading the report over again, Google-ing and Facebook-ing names, she picked the card up once again and dialed the number.

҉

**KITCHEN**

**SATURDAY MORNING**

Ann quietly made her way down stairs at seven in the morning. She didn't know if Jethro was up, but she didn't want to take any chances that he might see her. From what Elias told her last night, she was to be at the address by ten, but she wanted to get there a little bit early to scout out the place. She woke up an hour ago, dressed quickly - blue stripe tee with gold buttons, cut-off denim shorts, red fedora, and sandals – and filled her small leather cross-body bag with tools she thought useful – Taser gun, pepper spray, lock-picking tool-kit roll, screwdriver, a rock the size of her hand, her 'slim-jim' lock-pick, small roll of cash and a few Slim Jims.

She was nearly to the front door when she heard a voice behind her.

"Sneaking out?"

Ann froze, hand on the doorknob. She turned around to see Jethro leaning against the stair railing, sipping a mug of coffee. He looked vaguely amused.

"I-I was…" She sighed, pretending to give up. "I was on my way out to meet up with a friend."

"Friend got a name?" He sipped his coffee.

"Joey." She smiled as he coughed up some coffee. "Grove."

"Right." He cleared his throat. "And, uh, where are you two going?"

"Grab breakfast, do bit of shopping, maybe grab a movie. What about you? I thought you'd be at work by now."

"On my way there right now." He picked his coat off the coatrack and opened the door. "I'll drop you off."

"Thanks," she smiled kindly.

"Aren't you cold?"

҉

**11st STREET NW STARBUCKS**

Jethro dropped her off on the curb and watched her go in before driving off to the Navy Yard. She waited inside for a few more moments before heading across the street and boarded a bus that was heading for her final destination. Eleven or so minutes later, Ann stepped off the bus and onto Q St. NW in front of a bakery and coffee house. Facing her were two lanes of multiple little shops; behind her was traffic; dividing the two lanes was an alley up the road a ways.

She ducked into the coffee house bakery as she checked her watch – 7:45. She bought a small coffee, got herself a seat on the second floor balcony and watching the people walking on the street. There she sat and waited.

Around 9:30, Ann retrieved a scrap piece of paper from her pocket. On it were the notes she jotted down from her phone conversation with Elias last night – at 10:00 AM, Ann would receive a call on the pay phone on 11th St. From there, she would receive further instructions. She has been watching the street for hours now and nothing remotely suspicious has occurred: no same two cars, no same two people.

As it neared 10:00, Ann made her way downstairs and out the door. The phone began to ring as she approached it.

"Elias."

"_Ann. Right on time, that's good_."

"Well, you know, punctually is the virtue of the bored."

Elias chuckled. _"True, but you won't be bored for long."_

"Whys that? I thought you had a job offer for me."

"_I do, but you have to pass a…small test first_."

"I haven't had an overabundance of school, so-"

"_Listen up, Gibbs, you don't have that much time_." Elias said. Ann could tell his patience was running thin. "_In a few minutes, a rather large man and his bodyguard will walk out of the jewelry store to you right a few doors down. The large man will be carrying a metal case. Your test is to successfully get the case away from him. Once you do that, go to the nearest bus station and wait there. Do you understand?"_

"Get a metal case from a fat guy without him or his presumably beefy bodyguard knowing about it? Yeah, piece of cake," she said sarcastically.

Ann could hear the smirk in his voice when he said, "_We know you can do it, Ann. We're counting on you."_

-Click-

҉

**CONVIENCIANCE STORE**

Once Ann had heard the click of the phone, she had a few seconds to think of a plan before she had to act. Across the street she spotted a convenience store. In there, she found a metal make-up case, a bottle of soda, pack of Mentos, and a pair of aviator sunglasses. She put the receipt in her pocket and walked back outside, putting on the sunglasses. She walked back across the street and casually waited for the fat man as she leaned against a shaded tree.

It was 10:05 when the fat man made his appearance, dressed in an expensive tailor suit with the metal case in his pudgy hands. There were minor differences between her case and his, but they would do for now. The bodyguard, big a bald, walked down the street about three shops down to retrieve their car. It was more than enough time Ann needed.

"Hey, kid," Ann called two teenage skateboarders over. When they didn't budge, she held up the rest of her cash. That got their attention.

"Hey, sweet cheeks," The smaller one said. When he smiled, Ann could see a wad of chewing tobacco under his lip.

"This twenty is yours if you do what I say."

"Depends on what it is you say, lady." The taller one asked.

"See Mr. Piggy with the metal case?" They nodded. "Good. Skate by him."

"Really?" The short guy asked. "For twenty bucks alls we got to do is skate?"

Ann smiled. "Alls you got to do is skate."

"'Ey, your money, lady." The taller one said, making a grab for it. Ann pulled it back.

"After the job is done." She made a show of putting it in her bra. She smiled back at them. "Get skating."

The two juveniles wasted no time and neither did Ann. She opened the soda, peeled the Mentos and plopped half of them in there. She quickly reattached the lid and violently shook the bottle. She jogged across the street halfway and chucked the bottle at the skaters. It exploded upon impact a few steps in front of their path.

"Mother fu-" The shorter skater yelled as he came crashing down. The taller one wasn't too far behind him when they toppled the fat man down. Ann couldn't help but smile at the sight.

"Oh, golly, are y'all all right?" Ann quickly rushed over, hiding the second case behind the man's back. "I just saw them boys tumble and I thought-"

"Get off of me!" The fat man squealed. From the little tumble, he was already out of breath. "Get your damn hands off of me! Where's my case!"

"What-what case, mista?"

"Hey, you-" The smaller skater yelled, but Ann kicked him violently in the crotch to silence him.

"My metal case!" The fat man yelled. "Big and metal and MINE!"

"This case, mista?" Ann asked, bringing out the fake case. "Ya must've dropped it when ya took that awful tumble."

"Give it to me!" He demanded, ripping the case from her hands.

"Are ya sure you're all right, mista?" Ann asked, needlessly fussing around him. "Ya need an ambulance?"

"No, goddamn it! Leave me, woman!" He spit, shoving Ann away. She feel back slightly.

"Well my stars," she said, offended. "Help a troubled man out and this is how the good Lord rewards me!" She stands, dusting off her legs. "Shame on you!"

As she walked away, she quickly swiped up the real case and dropped the twenty by the taller skater. She winked as she passed. With a smile on her face, she walked towards the shop Elias had told her. She was reaching for the door when she noticed something in the door's glass. It was the fat man and his bodyguard. The fat man had the case open and was yelled furiously, yanking the two skaters by the collar. The bodyguard kept his head on a swivel, one hand on the gun he carried in his side holster. The fat man must have notice Ann a few doors down because she saw him point her way and yell at his bodyguard.

That's when the bodyguard began to walk towards Ann, his very real gun now out of its holster. She kept her eyes on the glass windows of the stores as she calmly kept walking.

"Hey!" The bodyguard called out to her. "Hey, ma'am. You dropped something."

Ann kept walking, kept her eyes on the window.

"Ma'am-"

Ann ran. She kept her head down and the metal case as close to her as possible. The bodyguard's heavy footfalls gave Ann an estimate of how far he was. He wasn't too far. Ahead of her, two men were unloading several crates into one of the stores. She began to run faster, darting around the delivery men, spun on her heels and shoved the crates into the path.

"Qué demonios, niña?" One of the men shouted at her.

"¿Qué crees que estás haciendo?" Another shouted. "Estos son caros! Voy a llamar a la policía. Así es, huir, putita."

Their yelling shifted from her towards the bodyguard as he tried to clear a path through the wreckage. When the men stopped bickering, she assumed the bodyguard showed them his gun. She couldn't pay attention to any of that now.

She ducked into the first alley she saw and cut across the back of buildings to double back to where she started. Frequently, she looked over her shoulder. She saw nothing but stale garbage and the occasional stray animal. When she came out of the alley next to the coffee shop she started at, she saw two police cruisers arrive and a very expensive Lincoln town car. The bodyguard was also jogging into the scene to meet up with his boss, the furious fat man.

She silently backed back into the alley, ducking behind a rather large dumpster. She sat there and thought for a moment about how she was going to get out of this one. In the past, she would always have at least one other person with her, whether they would be stealing with her or just being the look out. Now, she was on her own facing an unknown man with unknown power.

Then it hit her. Against the wall opposite her, there was a dirty green tarp over something rather large. A grimy headlight shown from underneath.

"Bingo," she grinned. Looking both ways in the alley, she moved to a crouching position and moved towards the driver's side door. She peeled back the tarp on the beat-down Pinto and did a quick once over before reaching into her bag for the small 'slim-jim' lock-pick. She stuck it in between the door frame and the window, jiggled, and the lock popped. She opened the door and slid in, putting her bag in the passenger seat. She reached inside, retrieving the screwdriver and rock. She stuck the screwdriver into the keyhole and pumped it with the rock. She turns the screwdriver and the transmission starts. A few seconds later, she pulls out of the alley.

"Impressive." Someone said from behind her. Startled, Ann turned around and saw a man sitting up from the bench seat in the back. All Ann could see of him were the clothes he was wearing – faded sneakers, torn and greasy jeans, and a zip hoodie pulled over his face. Ann screamed, her head whipping back to stare wide-eyed at the road.

When she looked back, he was pushing his hood off of his head and unzipping his jacket. When he looked up, she saw his face. He was perhaps the same age as she as, maybe older. He had short black hair blending up into a wavy, jagged cut. He had a sun-kissed oval face with early crow feet around his eyes and laugh lines around his mouth. He had warm, amused golden brown eyes; thin lips that hide a smile. His facial hair was identical to that of Michael Raymond-James or Johnny Deep – moustache and a small chin beard. Brown leather was tied around his neck like a necklace; on it was a small, scuffed and worn key.

"But, really," he took a set of keys out of his jacket pocket and held them out for her to see, "you could have just asked me for the keys."

"What the-"

"Just drive. It's fine." He crossed his arms on the space between the two headrests and laid his head on them. He kept his eyes on her.

"I just stole your car. Your life could be in danger."

"Milo Belluci," He gave her a single wave.

"Yeah, I'm not telling you my name. Sorry."

Milo chuckled. "No, I don't need it to have you arrested when the robbery's in progress."

Ann sighed, glancing over her shoulder at Milo. "Ann."

"Got a last name, Annie?" When she wouldn't say, he shrugged. "Just trying to start some conversation."

"So, do you just live in this piece of crap car, or are you just waiting for the car to be stolen?"

"Why don't I tell you over some frozen yogurt?" He smiled, showing his top canine teeth to be slightly sharper and more pointed than the rest.

"Excuse me?"

"Hey, eyes on the road!" He shouted, pointing at the road as Ann ran through a stoplight nearly avoid being hit by another car.

"I'm not eating…frozen yogurt with you. I don't even like frozen yogurt." She shimmed a little closer to the door and away from him. "You could be a, I don't know, pervert."

"Oh, I'm a pervert?" His smile grew. "You might think I'm a pervert, but I defiantly know you're a car thief."

"I'm not a car thief," Ann muttered under her breath.

"I'm sorry, I didn't hear-"

Milo and Ann both turned their heads at the sound of sirens and the flashing of red and blue lights. The cop car behind them merged into their lane and flicked on the sirens. Milo hid his face in his hand and muttered,

"I told you to watch the road!"

"Damn it!" Ann shouted, slamming her hand down on the steering wheel. She was terrified. She hesitated for a moment before pulling the car over to park beside the curb.

"Screwdriver," he told her. As she yanked out the screwdriver and placed it in her bag, he leaned over the barrier and put the keys into the ignition.

A cop in the local patrol uniform walked up to the car and motioned for her to roll down the window. "License and registration."

"Hi!" Ann said, smiling as widely as she could.

Milo leaned fully over the seat, his face right next to Ann's. She could vaguely smell motor oil, sawdust and something sweet. "Terribly sorry officer, but this is actually my car. I'm… I'm trying to, uh, teach my girlfriend how to drive stick."

"She's got a lot to learn," the officer said, looking back at the stoplight Ann had run.

"I know," Milo nodded adamantly. "But, you know…women."

Ann turned her head to him, her mouth open. He scrunched up his face adorably at her before turning back to the cop.

"Alright, I hear you." The cop nodded. "This is a warning. _This_ time."

"Yeah, thank you so much." Milo called out gratefully. As the cop walked back to his car, Milo got out and then re-entered to sit in the passenger seat. "What the hell'd you do that for?"

"What, saving your ass? You're welcome, by the way."

"I stole your car!"

Milo glanced over his shoulder at the cop who waited in his cruiser. "Will you go? We got lucky."

Ann was about to put the car into gear but stopped. "'We got lucky'? This isn't your car? I stole a stolen car?!"

Milo smiled at her, winking. "How about that frozen yogurt?"

҉

**LAWTON'S**

**GEORGETOWN**

Under an hour, Milo had steered her towards a bar in Georgetown. It had deep Irish green wooden paneling with dated iron lamps attached above the wooden door and several windows wrapping around the building. There was a black clock attached to the building on the corner; two benches out front; a small chalkboard advertising drinks and specials; and in large golden letters on the side that faced the street read: Lawton's Irish Pub.

"What? You plan on getting me drunk to get me to eat frozen yogurt?"

Milo smiled, opening his door and getting out. "You wish." He walked around to her door and opened it for her. He held out his hand. When she wouldn't accept it, he leaned down and lifted his eyebrow. She sighed and took his hand.

He didn't let it go.

"We're closed," A woman with an Irish accent called out to them. She stood behind the wrap around bar in the center of the bar; booths, tables and a pool table filed the rest of the room. The walls were covered in sports memorabilia and posters back from Ireland.

"Sure about that, Kendra?"

The woman, Kendra, threw a towel over her shoulder and slowly turned around, a smile on her heart shaped face. Her hair was a deep brown with red highlights hidden underneath the top layer; she wore it down and around her face. She had sea green eyes that shown from underneath her black eyeliner and thick eyelashes; her mouth was full and cherry red and was frowning.

"Tá tú déanach, Milo."

"Tóg go bog é. Cá bhfuil an fhoireann? Thuas staighre?"

She crossed her arms across her chest. "Cé hí?"

"An bhfuil tú ag éad?" Milo smirked. He squeezed Ann's hand a little tighter.

"Milo, tá a fhios agat nach bhfuil sé cosúil le strainséirí."

"She's no stranger." He said, switching back to English. "And he's expecting us."

"Upstiars," She nodded her head towards the black door in the back of the bar.

"Thank you, Kendra," He smiled sweetly, pecking her on the cheek before heading towards the door with Ann in tow. When they got closer, Ann saw that there was a rather large silver lock with a small blue scanner on top. "Cool, huh?"

"Depends on what it is."

"Biometric fingerprint door lock." He puts his thumb on the blue part and it scans. After a moment, the blue light turns green and there was a clicking. "If your fingerprint is in our system, you scan it and you're allowed in. If not, the blue turns red and, well…"

"Let me guess, it isn't the cops that show up."

Milo winks at her but doesn't answer.

҉

**UPPER LEVEL OF LAWTON'S**

After a short walk up an iron spiral staircase, Milo lead Ann into what seemed like a normal apartment hallway – three doors on either side of the hallway and one rather large door stood at the very end of the hallway with another large silver door handle attached to it.

"Place to put stale drunks?"

Milo faked a hurt look. "Ouch, that's hurts, Annie."

She lifted an eyebrow. "You live here? Above a bar?"

"Right here," He knocked on the middle door on the left side as they passed. He dropped her hand and, again, scanned his thumb and, again, the blue light turned green and there was a clicking noise. Milo stiffed, his hand gripping the handle tightly.

"Look, Milo, it's been great and all, but for all I know, you could be a serial killer who likes to hide in the back of crap cars to lure car-jackers back to his bar. That cute Irish barmaid could be your, I don't know, little serial killing helper." Ann babbled as she stared at the door. "Keep the car; I can take the bus-"

"Ann, shut up and give me a moment." Milo muttered. He looked conflicted as he stared at his hand on the silver door handle.

"I don't know you!" Ann whispered fiercely. "I am not about to go anywhere else with you. If you still want that frozen yogurt, fine, let's get some frozen yogurt, but I will not go anywhere else."

Milo sighed and turned to her. "I'm not going to hurt you, alright? I have a friend on the other side of this door that wants to talk to you. I'm not a cop and I'm not a pervert. What I am is a friend, if you'll let me be one."

He held out his hand towards her, keeping his eyes on hers. Ann signed and took his hand hesitantly.

"I swear, if you or your 'friend' try to pull anything," she patted her bag with her other hand, "I have pepper spray and a Taser and I am so not afraid to use them."

Milo shrugged. "Fair enough."

҉

**F.I.O HEADQUARTES**

He opened the door and moved out of the way for Ann to step inside. She was amazed at how advanced it was compared to the bar below and the hallway outside and more shocked at the bronze lettering that greeted them.

"Finch Investigations and Operations…?" Ann asked incredulously. She turned to Milo in anger. "You work for Elias?"

Milo didn't answer, only held out his arm for her to continue on. She shook her head, frustrated with the events of the day, and pushed past him into a loft style room – in the center of the room was a large glass circle conference table with six white chairs surrounding it; on the wall to the left were six TV screens were arranged to give one large video display center; to the right was more of a lounge setting with several couches, two bean bags, a coffee table, several bookshelves along the wall, and a pool table with two classic arcade gaming systems; the center wall ahead, past the conference table, was a full kitchen area.

"So where is he?"

"I don't know," Milo said. He walked towards the middle of the room and looked around. "Kendra said they were up here."

"And Kendra is…?"

"John's wife," Milo said absentmindedly. He took his phone out of his pocket and began to dial, but the door opened again.

"So, then I said-" a man was saying but stopped short when he saw Ann standing by the conference table. "Who the hell are you?"

Ann turned around and saw a boy that was around the same age as Milo, roughly 5'10", with sandy blonde hair, the back and sides were cropped short and swept behind his ears and blended into the top that was left long enough to also be swept back. He had a chiseled square jaw that was covered in a five o'clock shadow that was almost as impressive as his straight cut cheekbones that were prominent against his tan skin. His blue eyes looked slightly familiar; Ann had seen them before, yet she remembered them being older.

The next man who entered drew a gun. He was the enormous height of 6'5" with the muscles to match. His black V-neck stretch tight over his chest, defining his build. He had an oval face with dark eyes that matched his dark, high-and-tight hair.

"How'd you get in here?" He, too, had an Irish accent like the woman downstairs.

"Whoa, John; easy there, big guy." Milo said, reappearing next to Ann. This was apparently the barmaid's husband. "She's with me."

"And you brought her here?" The first man, Jace, said. He stepped forward. "You know the rules."

"Shut up, Jace," Milo spat. "And damn it, John, put the gun down!"

"Who is she?" John growled. "I swear, if she's a cop-"

"She isn't a cop," a third man said. A man roughly six foot stepped through the door. He laid his hand on John's shoulder. "Holster it."

"Daniel," Jace protested, "You know the rules."

"Seeing as I how I helped create them," the new man, Daniel, glanced over at Jace. Jace clamped his mouth shut defiantly.

"Where's Elias?" Milo asked Daniel. He tried to walk up to them, but Daniel held out his hand to stop them.

"Ann," Daniel held out an open hand for her to take. She instead looked over to Milo, who was glaring at Milo. He looked over at her and nodded. She slowly stepped forward and took his hand.

Daniel turned to John to say something, but John waved his hand. "Yeah, yeah, play the babysitter. I got it."

Daniel nodded and led Ann back out into the hallway, shutting the security door behind them.

"Sorry about that. John doesn't like strangers all that much." Daniel said. His tone had changed to a more…friendly tone. He smiled. "Daniel Carter."

From this distance, she could fully make out his features. He had a square, set jaw and a deep cut under his left eye that looked pretty recent. Speaking of his eyes, they were a sort of grey color that seemed to be more aged and haunted than the rest of his self. If Ann had to guess, Daniel was probably in his mid-thirties as well as John and Kendra. Plus, if Ann thought so herself, he was ruggedly handsome.

"Ann Gibbs." She shifted her hand in his so that she could properly shake it.

"Been expecting you, Ann."

"You have?"

He nodded. "You weren't supposed to run into Milo. He wasn't supposed to be there, actually."

"What was I supposed to do then?"

"What Elias told you over the phone. He was going to come to you."

"And now I've come to him. So," She held out her hands. "Take me to your leader."

Daniel smiled, tipping his head. "As you wish."

He walked to the door situated between Milo's door and the F.I.O door they had just exited. He glanced over his shoulder at Ann. "Ready?"

"Is there any other option?"

"Not really."

"Super."

҉

**ELIAS' QUARTERS**

"Enter," Elias called out at the knocking at his doors. He poured himself a glass of Scotch as Daniel opened the door.

"Sir, Ann Gibbs as you requested."

"Send her in." Daniel nodded and stepped out of the doorway. Ann walked in, yet stayed close to Daniel. "Miss Gibbs, nice to see you again."

"Can't say the same thing just yet," she said as she looked around the modest room.

Elias smiled. "Please, have a seat," he gestured to the small sitting area where he stood. He sat and Ann hesitantly joined them. "Daniel, if you could wait outside the door..."

"Yes, sir." Daniel nodded, winked at Ann, and left.

"Now then," Elias took a sip of Scotch before reaching down to bring up the metal briefcase that was in the trunk of the stolen car Ann and Milo came in.

"You broke into my car."

"The stolen car you stole from Milo?" Elias lifted his eyebrow.

"Fair point," Ann shifted in her seat. "How'd I do with you little job interview?"

"Job interview? That wasn't the interview, this is."

"What? But y-you said-"

"I said it was a test, not an interview." Elias pointed out, sipping his drink.

"You tested me to see if I was worth your time for an interview." Ann shook her head, frustrated. "Well, am I worth it?"

"You wouldn't be sitting here if you weren't."

"So, how'd I do?"

"Excellent," Elias nodded, sipping his drink. "You were quick on your feet, genius execution, clean get away."

"Except when I was chased by a bald guy with a gun," she said.

"He didn't fire, did he?"

"No-"

"Then a clean get-away." He finished his drink and laid it on the small table between the two of them.

"Can you tell me what's in the case?"

"No."

"Can you tell me who I stole it from?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"You're not a member of my staff. Telling you would breach client confidentiality."

"Can you tell me anything?"

"Your hair looks nice, but aren't you cold?" Elias smiled.

"Finch-"

"What would you like to know, Ann?"

"For starters, who are you? What is it exactly do you do? Who were those guys – Milo, Daniel, Jace, John?"

"Starters, huh?" Elias got comfortable. "You know who I am and what it is I do or else you wouldn't have come. You had your friend at NCIS check us out."

"No I didn't."

"Don't lie, it's very unbecoming."

Ann hesitated a moment. "How'd you know?"

"Milo is quite gifted with computers. He's alerted whenever someone flags us. Early warning system. Why don't you tell me what you know and I'll fill in whatever gaps I can, okay?"

"You're Elias Finch, retired Marine Corps Major. You commanded a joint service task force. That's where you met your wife, Samantha."

"Late wife," Elias said before gesturing for her to continue.

"Yeah, she…uh…she was killed in the line of duty. You, uh, killed a whole bunch of people and were kicked out of the service. They said you snapped." Elias didn't answer. "After you got back to the states, you did some favors for some underground, under the radar people to start up F.I.O. Two men, soldiers that served under you, joined you when you called."

"Does the file tell you who?"

Ann shook her head. "Only blurry pictures."

"Good," Elias stood and walked over to a bookcase by the door. He retrieved something from the shelf and walked back to the chairs, handing the object to Ann. It was a photograph – Elias stood in the middle with two men on either side of him. Ann recognized the men on the left of Elias to be Daniel and Jace, the men on the right to be John and Milo. "I have served with John Lawton and Daniel Carter for a long time. They're good men, loyal."

"Tell me about them." Ann looked up and saw Elias smiling. "Come on, you can't possibly be breaking client confidentiality."

"No, but I'll be breaking their trust. Continue with your report."

"Well, Carter seems to be your right-hand-man-"

"Ann," Elias said warningly. "Continue."

Ann sighed. "F.I.O seems to be broken down into two sections – Legal and 'Illegal'. The 'legal' portion of F.I.O, the Investigation section, is a standard Private Investigation practice. The 'illegal' portion of F.I.O, the Operations section, rights "injustices" done to clients who can either not afford their services or wish to fly under the radar. You gather funding from the people you bring down, often wiping their accounts clean. Although the government knows about your operation, since no one has come forward and there is no substantial evidence to prove anything, they can't do anything."

"Impressive. You have a good source." He took the photo back. "You father?"

"Jethro doesn't know about this." Ann said quickly. "And I'd prefer if he didn't."

"Why is that, I wonder?"

"He isn't your biggest fan," Ann said lightly. "He's mentioned you guys tore up one of his investigations and the perp walked free before disappearing completely."

Elias tilted his head. "What would he car about an interview. It isn't as if you're considering joining us?"

Ann paused for a moment before slowly saying. "I-I already have a job."

"Not far from the Naval Yard. Dad keeping tabs on you?"

"Don't have a car. Saving the world one carpool at a time." She said sarcastically.

"You're concerned about appearances?" Ann didn't answer, but Elias understood. "Kendra is always looking for good help. If you were to hypothetically join us, you could work downstairs and then with us whenever needed."

"And if I were to hypothetically join your….organization, what would you have me be doing?"

"Barmaid for Kendra, obviously. Each member of the teams contributes to the bar in some way – example being, I'm the accountant; Daniel bartends; John provides security; and Mio picks up slack where he can."

"What about Jace?"

"My son likes to think himself above the rules."

"Y-your son?" Ann stuttered. "He, uh, he seemed to be a stickler for the rules when he saw Milo with me in your little conference room."

Elias smiled. "That's because I busted him when he brought a date up here to impress her. He probably thought Milo was doing the same."

"So Jace is your son, Daniel and John used to work for you, Kendra is married to John…it seems like F.I.O is a pretty family oriented business. What about Milo?" Elias didn't answer. "Right, right, trust."

"As far as I'm concerned, you're more than welcome here, Ann. You have the job if you want it."

"And if I accept, would I be living here like everyone else?" Ann asked as she looked around the room again.

"No, you have a home." Ann couldn't help but notice the sad tone to his voice.

"And if I don't accept?"

"What do you mean?"

"Would you get rid of me like you did that perp? I mean, I know about you guys, what you do, who you are-"

"Would you sell us out?"

"No, of course not-"

"Then why are you asking?"

"I just want to make sure I'm not getting into something I'll regret later."

"'Of all the words of mice and men, the saddest are, 'It might have been.''" Elias said, standing up. Ann looked confused. "Kurt Vonnegut."

"Your point besides impressing me with literature?"

"One day, could be tomorrow, you'll find yourself asking 'Why? What could have been if I had said yes?' Ask yourself right now, do you want to be a part of something bigger, something good?"

҉

**GIBBS HOME**

Ann was fast asleep on the living room couch when Jethro came home with Abby right behind him. He hung up his and Abby's coats on the coast racks as she wandered further into the house.

"Where's Ann?"

"She went out to study with a friend before heading to work." Jethro said absentmindedly. He was still reeling from the events of the day. Abby was more or less suppressing everything. "She'll be back in an hour to so."

"Oh, good. That's…good." Abby said as she sunk down in a kitchen chair. "She's making friends?"

"Honestly, I have no idea." Jethro sat down next to her. "She calls me when she gets to school and when she leaves for work. I sign papers for class and buy her the materials she needs. Beyond that, we haven't said much about it. What about you; you guys talk every night."

Abby shrugs. "She loves being a junior in high school even though it's the middle of the year; finds the classes engaging. The people however…"

"What about them?"

"Once they got word of her being a street kid, that this was her first time in an actual school….you know kids. They can be very unforgiving."

"She didn't mention anything," Jethro said, hurt.

"She probably didn't want you to get worried." Abby sighed, laying her head in her face. "I'm just so tired, Gibbs."

"I know, Abs," Jethro pulled Abby into his chest as she began to sob, "I know."

"Dad…" Ann muttered quietly as she stumbled into the room. She had changed into her - a Superman tee and Sesame street bottoms. "W-What's going on?"

"Hey, Ann," he said, holding out his arm as she stumbled into the room. She took his hand and was pulled into his lap. Ann pulled her legs up to curl into his chest. "When'd you get home?"

"Hours ago."

"Why didn't you call me?"

"Tried," she yawned. "Got a busy signal. What was going on?" Jethro didn't answer. Ann lifted her head slightly to look at up at Abby. "Abby?"

"We, uh…it was," Abby tried to say, but Jethro could speak more calmly.

"Langer is dead."

"What?" This information sobered her up. "When? How? Where? Who-"

"Annie, calm down. Calm down." Jethro said, rubbing her back. "Remember what I told you last night?"

"Yeah, the, uh, the spy. It was Langer?"

Jethro nodded. "McGee got an alert that someone used Vargo's access card when I got a call from Lee, she was screaming and someone was shooting. Langer lured Lee down to the Computer Archives Section in Building 3 next door. When Vance and I got there Lee had killed Langer in self-defense. Vargo's Access Card's in Langer's pocket."

"Oh my God," Ann whispered, covering her mouth as her eyes began to water. Jethro held her close as she sobbed softly into his shoulder.

"I'll get some alcohol." Abby got up and headed towards the fridge. She came back with three bottle of beer and set them on the table. When Ann reached for one of the bottles, Jethro held the bottle where it was.

"No beer."

"Jethro-"

"No. I don't want you drinking." Jethro skimmed his lips over Ann's forehead. After his and Abby's beers were opened, he asked. "How come you're home so early?"

"Got let go from the grill." Ann lied as easily as if it were breathing. "Marlow hit a financial bump and had to let go of new employees."

"Ah geez, sorry, kido," Jethro said, rubbing her back as he sipped his beer.

Ann shrugged. "No biggie. After school tomorrow, I'm gonna search around for a job. Friend said Georgetown was hiring."

"But you can't go tomorrow!" Abby said, putting down her beer a little too harshly on the table.

"Abs-"

"No, Gibbs, she can't!"

"Why? What's going on tomorrow?" Ann asked with utter confusion.

"Ziva is coming back tomorrow." Jethro said, sipping his beer. "Everyone's gonna be there and I'd like you to be there too."

҉

**WASHINGTON HIGH SCHOOL**

"Remember," Abby was saying as she dropped Ann off at the front gate of the school, "I'll be picking you up after last bell. I'll call when I get here."

"Alright," Ann said as she got out of the car, slinging her backpack over her shoulder.

"Hey, Ann," Abby yelled through the window as three cheerleaders rush by, pointing and giggling at the hearse. "Have a good day!"

Ann gave her a faint smile. "Thanks. Good luck at the office. Tell Lee I said hey."

"Catch ya later, hottie," Abby winked as she drove away. Ann turned towards the goliath school and sighed.

Washington High School – three groups of people roam the halls here: the children of millionaires, the children of people who work for millionaires, and the children of people who worked for federal agencies. Private security and trust funds awaited the rich, while others got jobs at mini marts or movie theaters.

As she walked through the gates, more students rushed by her to huddle around a statue of Theodore Roosevelt on a bucking horse with his sword extended in his hand. Everyone was talking, laughing, and ducking through each other to get a better look. Curious, Ann made pushed her way through to the front.

"Who'd that guy steal from?" Ann heard one guy said as she passed.

"I heard the bikers." The girl next to him replied.

"What're you talking about?" Ann asked the closest person to her.

"Are you fucking blind, street kid?" A varsity basketball player with his letterman jacket asked her. "Or did all those years of eating trash finally get to you?"

"New guy chained to the Roosevelt statue," a squirrely freshman answered her. "Must be a theif or something. Stole from the bikers."

"What're you talking about?"

"Are you fucking deaf too?" The basketball guy asked her. The freshman rolled her eyes and took Ann by the hand.

"Follow me," she said as she dragged her through the crowd, elbowing people with her books. When she stopped, she turned to Ann and said, "See?"

Ann shoved the freshman out of the way when she saw who it was – Milo Belluci. He had metal chains crisscrossing around his body and naked, although his dignity is preserved by the positioning of the rather large padlock that held the chains together. 'Thief' was misspelled in red lipstick across his well-developed chest. There was a black blindfold over his eyes, but Ann could tell it was him for the necklace he wore.

"Why doesn't somebody cut him loose?" A girl asked, clutching her books to her chest.

"And be the next one up there? Ain't no fucking way," A boy said with heavy sarcasm.

The particularly obnoxious photographer from the school's "underground" paper, _The Roosevelt_, approached Milo with a camera, taking a photograph of himself with the humiliated captive.

"Alright, newbie, you're gonna be famous. Now, say cheese!" He was about to snap the picture when he suddenly felt the cool metal of a knife against his throat. He swallowed hard and slowly turned his head. Ann was holding a small, but rather sharp, knife; her face was stone.

"Move."

"Who died and made you-" Ann pressed the knife harder against his throat. He seemed to get the point. "Alright! Alright, geez. Just get off me!" Ann slowly took the knife away and the jerk ran off.

Ann turned towards the crowd. "Anybody else?" No one answered. "Good. Now get to class."

Just then, the bell rung and the crowd began to disperse. Ann could distinctively hear the crowd mumbling about her and she knew she'd be the topic of discussion for a little while longer.

"Ann? Ann, is that you?" Milo asked, moving his head around. Ann didn't say anything as she cut the blindfold off. "Watch the knife!"

"A thank you would be nice," Ann muttered as she unzipped her bag and began to look for her lock-picking tool kit.

"Hey, I-I had it under control-"

"Control being buck naked and chained to a statue? To me it sounds a bit homoerotic." Ann took out two tools and set to work. "What the hell are you doing here? Besides the obvious."

"Elias transferred me and Jace to Washington High." Milo said simply, shrugging.

"Hey!" Ann called out, backing up. She pointing her pick at him and glared. "I am working very close to your junk. As uncomfortable as it is for you, it is way worse for me so if you could please keep the movements down to a minmum. Got it?"

"What," Milo asked with a smile, "don't want to see me naked?"

"Shut up," Ann sighed, reluctantly going back to picking the lock. Within a few seconds, it popped. Ann stepped back and turned around, saying over her shoulder, "You have a change of clothes around here?"

"Naw, they took everything beside my necklace." She heard him say as he unraveled himself from the chains.

"Here," she reached in her bag and pulled out a lime green towel. She tossed it over her shoulder. "Best I got."

"Hey, where you going?" Milo called out to her as he watched her walk away.

"Class!"

҉

**ADVANCED HISTORY**

"Miss Gibbs?" Mrs. Cooper's voice droned through Ann's name.

Ann had propped her cheek on her fist and was staring out the window at the Roosevelt statue, waiting for the bells to chime. Washington High School didn't believe in the electronic class change signals that most other schools had; instead, actual bells would toll from the three bell towers. The pencil in her hand rested on blank paper. She brought her gaze around slowly, sudden silence in the room meant all eyes were on her.

She hated that most of all.

Cooper was round-faced, white haired, and plump. The other teachers most likely thought her a sweet, kind elderly woman with a harmless soul. Being here only a few weeks, Ann knew that was the complete opposite from the truth. She had small dark hazel eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses and carnelian lipstick feathering off the edge of her lips. He taloned hands clasped her cane as a weapon. Frankly, she looked like a weasel hunting for her next target. She was often referred to as 'Jaws' because she could sniff out fear as if it were blood in the water.

"Were we _paying attention_, Miss Gibbs?"

You could have stropped a knife on Cooper's tone. A tide of whispers from the seniors ran through the room. Cooper had picked out her next target for the remainder of class and it was Ann.

"Fort Sumter."

Ann shouldn't have opened her mouth. Hard teachers like Cooper were bullies. If you don't react, soon enough they'll think you're stupid and leave you alone. Silence. Cooper's eyes narrowed behind her glasses, and Ann opened her mouth. She jumped right in with both feet.

"You asked where the first shots of the Civil War were fired. Fort Sumter, April 12th to the 13th, 1861." She delivered the words in a monotone and the whispers turned into quite laughter.

Cooper eyes her for a moment before saying, "Thank you, Miss Gibbs," with much venom. Her pause lengthened as she tapped meditatively on the desk with her cane. "Perhaps you could spend more time paying attention in class that pondering the terriable dessicon you made with that outfit."

Ann looked down at herself – black Motly Crue "Girls Girls Girls" vintage crop tee; high-low red wine chiffon skirt; white Converse high tops; and black ray-bans that rested on top of her head. Ann opened her mouth to say something but the bells tolled and everyone raced out the door.

҉

**OUTDOOR LUNCH AREA**

Ann stabs at a dinner tray of unappetizing meatloaf and gravy unenthusiastically. The mixed peas and corn were next. She sat alone at one of the tables of the school's outdoor eating area and watched a certain table across the pavilion from her. There were a number of students sitting and standing around the table. They rejoiced as a pizza delivery man arrives.

Ann was so intent in her staring that she didn't notice when Milo sat down next to her and began to unpack his lunch – a small bag of Oreos and a cardboard carton of milk. It was when Jace sat in front of her view did she notice she had company.

"You okay?" Milo asked. He picked up an Oreo from the bag, twisted it, and dunked the separate pieces into the milk before eating it.

"What?"

"You look hypnotized." Jace mumbled around a mouth full of a Subway sandwich.

"Did I say you could sit here?" Milo and Jace exchanged looks before shrugging indifferently. They weren't about to go anywhere. Ann sighed and resumed stabbing the meat.

"Thanks, by the way," Milo said, leaning over to bump shoulders with her. "Seriously don't know what I would have done."

"Just don't make a habit of it." One of the rich kids walked by, oblivious, giving Ann the opportunity to snag a slice of pizza off his plate. Before taking a bit, she asked, "How the hell you get up there in the first place?"

"Jace and I were scouting out the school late last night. Ran into the wrong people." Milo said simply, but by the way he mercilessly pounded his next Oreo to a sandy pulp, Ann knew there was more.

She turned towards Jace and he supplied the answer. "Milo was trying out a new gadget on Mr. Money Bag's car last night. We got caught, we ran, they chased. Finally lost them near the 800 hallway."

"And…?"

"And we got jumped this morning," Milo said defensively. "Jace got shoved into a closet and I was chained naked to a statue of a guy with buckteeth! What more is there to say?" Jace was trying to hide his smile behind his hand, but Milo caught him. He through an Oreo at him. "Shut up."

Ann waited for Milo to mellow out with his Oreos and milk before asking, "Why're you guys here?"

"To keep an eye on you," Jace said. "We take care of our own." He nodded towards Milo. "Something you did this morning."

"But I'm not one of you." Ann shook her head, pushing away the crust of her pizza.

"You are, Ann," Milo said as if it were the surest thing he's ever said. "You may not be used to the idea right now, but give it time. Give us time. We'll grow on you," he said as he placed an Oreo on a spoon, bent it back and launched it. It his Jace square in the right eye. Ann couldn't help but laugh as Jace wildly chased Milo around the pavilion.


End file.
